Precious Memories
by PhantomMemories
Summary: NaNoWriMo project: The time is World War II, and two Allied Nations are missing in action, presumed dead or captured.  Mature for language and graphic blood. This can be considered pure crack.  Warning: yes there's a touch of UK/US France,Canada UK POVs
1. Chapter 1

Haltern, Germany: Midnight

The world began with flame, and the sound of superheated metal giving way to crash to the forest floor.

It took him precious moments to gather what little remained of his wits and _move_-which, on second thought seemed to be a bad idea as a wave of pain and nausea swept over him.

He froze in his half seated position to let the discomfort subside as much as it would, while he evaluated his current situation. _(had there been a time when he was in this much pain before? Something in his mind seemed to think so, but... all he knew now was fire and pain and –)_

The sky above him appeared to be metal- but above that through smoked filled cracks he could tell that that sky was false. Darkest blue and hints of stars stared back at him through the fog. He was in a box of sorts, with rounded corners, that had been twisted out of its original cylindrical shape by a massive outside force- (_Going to lose that wing, grab the damned chute already, and get your skinny ass out of here-)_ rendering it useless scrap, barely resembling what it had originally been.

Heat found him, some organic strapping material or perhaps coating for one of the myriad of wires that he could barely make out through the watering and stinging of his eyes. It dropped, embers still burning on his left hand, and the remains of a black glove. He jumped, forced to move before it could start eating through the leather to more tender skin below. He had to get out of this box or it would be his coffin- the realization came more swiftly as his mind started to catch up, become more aware. It didn't matter if it hurt to pull his aching body to unsteady feet, if his throbbing pierced through his mind like a- something. If he remained, it would hurt worse, to stay was to be burned alive, and that was one thing he didn't ever want to go through again. (_again?_)

His next problem presented itself firmly as he turned through the near familiar but now hellish twisted and broken cylinder. Through the haze, he hoped to find an exit, a break in the prison walls, what he found first was a figure slumped over a set of controls- it only took another heartbeat to recognize- to finally understand what his box truly was.

An airplane.

And the figure in the sideways twisted and broken seat must have been the pilot.

_(Don't be an idiot, we're both-)_

The thought, the memory, perhaps, was gone as soon as it had come, and just as swiftly forgotten. The pilot, however- was he alive as well?

One could certainly hope not, with the dark stains puddling on the clothing, and around the chair. One could only hope that that brave figure _(or foolish?)_ was not suffering from the injuries that had come about from the way the nose of the plane shattering, sending glass and metal shards flying- driving them into vulnerable flesh. Or with the way that the entire front of the vehicle had caught the body, as it had hurtled to an impact whose momentum –

So much blood...

And yet, when he forced himself to walk to the corpse, to touch the still-warm shoulder and make certain, the pilot gave a peculiar little whimper that tugged at him deep within his bruised chest.

Oh God, still alive.

But in grave danger.

The decision of whether or not to move the badly injured man and aggrivate the wounds inflicted by the crash- and it had been a crash- wasn't difficult.

If he was left in this wreck, he would burn, and most certainly die. He could attempt to stop the bleeding in relative safety outside, and just hope that there would be a chance. Hell, there was a better chance if the pilot was moved, than if he just stood there and dithered about whether or not he should be risking his life to save a stranger.

_(That's what a hero does- risks everything for someone who needs help...)_

He had to act quickly, no matter what he did. There had to be an exit near, something in his mind reminded him, and he tugged at the dead weight with a wince. He was relieved to find that none of those projectiles had pinned the other man in place, that would have made this closer to completely impossible, rather than merely difficult. The pilot didn't react to the touch, the movement- hopefully unconscious. Hopefully would remain so while he practiced what little first aid that he knew-

But there was no more time to dwell and dwaddle- he might himself ache abominably from his own injuries, and from breathing this foul smoke, however this pilot-

Was heavy. One arm over his shoulder, and held tightly, the other around the pilot's waist, half dragging, half carrying him up the pathway towards that place that instinct told him an exit would be.

And it was there, the door itself had most likely been jarred loose upon impact, and probably lay somewhere within the trial of debris that he could barely see as he maneuvered himself and his burden through the hatchway- careful to mind the steep drop to the ground.

The forest had a pathway carved through it, from where the plane had plowed through the trees in what may or may not have been a controlled crash. Most likely not, considering the state of the pilot, the plane, and the passenger-

Had he been a passenger on this- no. It wasn't that sort of an airplane. It was – images of violence filled his thoughts momentarily, however the soft whispering gasp of breath in his ear distracted him.

"Got to... get away... before they find..." The pilot was barely conscious- of course he was, the hard part was over, and he'd been carried through- "I-Sorry..."

It felt as though the weight of the world had been let loose on his shoulder, and suddenly he understood. The pilot had been at least partially conscious through the evacuation, attempting to move under his own power and keep the burden lighter- but now-

The man was slipping from his own weakened grasp, and all he could do was try to ease the fall, so there wouldn't be any new injuries to add to the tally that he suspected was quite long already.

Blood, blood. More blood.

Was there any part of this pilot that wasn't covered with scrapes and injury, and blood?

Coughing out the smoke that he'd inhaled, he studied the prone man.

Blond. Regular features _(though bruises and swelling marred how pretty he actually was)- _the thought shook him for a moment. He didn't recognize this man, instead returning to the survey of injuries. Eyes closed, with the cracked remains of a pair of glasses somehow still perched on the obviously broken nose- bruises. More bruises. The brown leather jacket had obviously deflected some of the smaller debris, and slowed down some of the larger- but still, the light colored uniform beneath was stained dark with blood which still oozed around the large shard of metal protruding from the right side of his chest.

From his chest.

It couldn't be anything less serious, something that he could handle with a few plasters and some bandages, and maybe a compress. The smaller injuries to his companion, perhaps he could handle with such and sundry- if he had them- but this...

His headache worsened, bringing with it a nausea that drove him away from the wounded man to vomit leaning against one of the trees- now on fire, he noted with a sense of resignation. His head hurt. His body ached, and somehow the realization that he'd just rescued a man he couldn't save made his chest _hurt_. He didn't even know the man's name, despite the faint sense of familiarity about him.

He couldn't just ask- unconsciousness aside- he should know the name of the insane idiot who'd gotten him into this mess. He did, just as well as he knew his ow-

A blink, as the nausea returned.

Damn it, he knew his own na-

"Fuck me." He gasped aloud. "Fuck..."

He didn't know- how could he not know- why did he- His head throbbed again, nearly driving him to his knees.

He had to know. Had to find out. The pilot- had they been friends? Perhaps acquaintances. The pilot would certainly know who he was, but-

Uniform. Military.

He looked down at his own clothing, for the first time since noticing the ragged black gloves in the plane. A similar uniform on himself, but coloured differently- They were soldiers. Perhaps enemies?

No. He doubted, somehow, that that other man would so docilely allow him to touch, hold- help- if he were an enemy. But the thread of memory that had sparked with the thought of uniforms wasn't completely gone. Military men had identification, in case of situations where they could no longer speak- his tattered glove was stripped from his hand, and tossed to the ground as he frantically tore open the collar of his shirt (_not so stuffy now, while you're a little rumpled-) _digging for what he knew should be there, fingertips finding warm metal- not fire warm, but body warm- next to his heart.

With trembling hand, he pulled out the tag and held it, squinting as he read the text engraved upon the piece of tin. His name, where he came from, his life.

Arthur Kirkland, London, England, UK.

And a series of useless unfamiliar numbers, but the important part was there. He was Arthur Kirkland, of England, although right now that comfort was weak, facing the inevitability of the death of that pilot, a man he might know- who would die, if Arthur Kirkland didn't at least attempt to do something to save him. He needed to know the man's name, at the very least.

Limping back to the man, Arthur knelt, careful not to touch the metal, as he carefully unbuttoned the shirt, cautiously tearing as he exposed the minor cuts that had bled so badly. The major wound wasn't bleeding as much- at least not externally. How was he supposed to deal with this- with the tears that were forming in the corners of his eyes. The smoke, he excused himself. That must be what's doing it.

A glint of metal caught in the flickering firelight, and Arthur bent to read whatever name might be given to this man, this –_(Old man- you don't really have to escort me on this flight. My people are fine-" _

"_What if I want to go, you idiot-")_

Arthur must know him. Though the voice he'd heard from the pilot before wasn't anywhere near the brash and fairly loud voice from those memories that trickled through the embers of pain in his mind. The man before him had been nearly silent, whispering- but then, he basically had a metal stake through his chest, and was probably in horrible amounts of pain-

Alfred F. Jones, Washington DC, USA

If he'd hoped for a shining moment, a burst of light and joy that would herald the return of coherency, and the end of this headache that was obviously keeping him from remembering beyond waking in the flaming wreckage of a Liberator B _(He should know the model, and its capabilities, because Alfred wouldn't stop telling him about-)_. Arthur winced again. He was sorely disappointed.

He would be better off right now if he would stop trying to think, or remember. All Arthur needed to know right now was how to keep this baby faced young man from dying. He looked so damned young-

The boy's breath was hitching softly, as his body tried to compensate for the foreign object that had been thrust between his ribs, and probably through a lung, or some other vital organ. Collapsing a lung, and making this bad situation worse- _(Where did this knowledge come from, this realization of slightly more than basic first aid.. long practice?)_- a brief check of the mouth, and an ear to the cool skin of a blood soiled chest told him there was fluid building up in the lung.

Fuck.

The feeling of helplessness washed over Arthur as a little dry voice in the back of his head told him that pulling out the metal would be a bad idea, that Alfred was already in severe shock, and that without a real medical professional, he would die. Not necessarily within minutes, but certainly within the day.

And Arthur didn't even know where they'd crashed, let alone where the nearest hospital was-

So lost in thought was he, allowing his hands to automatically tear the already ruined uniform, and bandage the more minor injuries to the pilot in front of him, that Arthur entirely missed the crashing of footsteps through the bushes, the gutteral bark of men looking for something-

He'd forgotten Alfred's words of concern, and as the gray-cloaked soldier stopped in front of them, Arthur merely looked up with a plea in his face.

"Please, help him-" The second blond man stared down at him with a look that mingled surprise, horror, and perhaps a little spark of compassion. Before he could continue, something struck the back of his head, sending him spiraling back into the darkness.

Arthur only hoped that he hadn't just landed on Alfred. The poor boy couldn't take much more injury.

And then there was nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**London: Early Dawn**

Matthew awakened screaming.

In the harsh light of an ashy dawn, the red rays of the sun found his pillow far too easily for his tastes. Canada just fell back on the white fabric, once the echoes died, and tried to find the reason for the unfounded terror that was making his heart race.

Perhaps not so unfounded.

Alfred had told him that the mission was a simple one- provide a radar jamming escort for the bombing fleet, and home before midnight. He'd even poke Matthew awake, once he returned, just so his worry-wart brother would be satisfied that the danger was over for at least this night.

But it was morning- early morning, but still- and Matthew had slept through the entire night. There had been no wake-up call at midnight, no brother to tease him about his concern. Why didn't Alfred understand- this was_ war_ and being shot down, or crashing, or a million other things was entirely possible. Granted, it was unlikely to kill one of their kind, but still-

The nightmare started resurfacing in pieces, causing his heart rate to jump again.

_"They tagged the engines- We're losing pressure. Everybody-"_

_ A village- not a terribly large one, but still, one that was fairly well lit, obviously inhabited, and... if he didn't do something, this plane would..._

_ "Damn it, you idiot, this isn't a time to play hero-"_

_ Pain. Overwhelming pain- and the sensation of drowning and burning at the same time-_

A pounding on the door to the small quarters jerked him out of the memories.

"Canada? Canada, are you all right? You were screaming, aru-" China? Why would Yao- Oh. That's right. He was in London for the meeting that was to happen today- but where was England? Wasn't he supposed to be on this floor?

The door cracked open, admitting the small dark haired figure.

"Canada?"

"I was... dreaming." Matthew admitted, as he clambered out of the bed to shake loose fragments of dreams that might still be clinging to his sleeping attire. "I was waiting for Al to return, and fell asleep. I guess- have you seen him yet? Or England?"

The Asian man's face remained neutral, though Matthew could almost swear there was a hint of something else in the deep brown eyes. Regret?

"England went with America, as an observer- the squad just landed two hours ago. They lost three fighters, and an escort-" Yao frowned, crinkling his youthful brow.

"That's not good." Matthew couldn't shake the looming gloomy feelings, "America must be annoyed- those were his pilots. But the escort-"

"The Liberator went down somewhere between Hannover and the Netherlands boarder, aru. Parachutes were spotted-"

"Went down..." Matthew tried to keep the sudden panic from his voice. "That- please tell me- that it wasn't- that it couldn't be- It couldn't be-"

Echoes of the dream slammed into Canada with the force of a bomb at the mournful gaze of their ally. Matthew shook his head swiftly, trying to deny the words that began to echo far too loudly in the small room.

"I am very sorry, aru," China reached over to place a comforting hand on Canada's shoulder. "The RAF Liason has confirmed it, we were waiting until you awakened to let you know- There were parachutes spotted, as I mentioned, even if they were deeply within German occupied territory, there is still a chance that they are fine."

"Damnit... Al..." Violet eyes watered, stung, "England..."

"If they have landed safely, and can evade capture, they can make their way to safety, my friend, they are both far too stubborn to give up, and there is still a resistance in France, no matter how small, and they will head for French territory as soon as they are able. There are a few networks that reach that far into Germany. We have sent word to those who can look for them with relative ease already- we should hear something soon, aru."

"But... what if they didn't..." The dull discomfort, almost an ache in Matthew's chest sharpened, became more prominent. "What if there was a reason that they couldn't make it off the plane-"

"There were parachutes spotted, Canada, there is little chance that they would remained behind for any reason, aru." China still had that look of concern in his eyes. And a slight hint of doubt- or perhaps that was just Matthew's own feelings.

"I know, but-" The discomfort sharpened again, growing to a stabbing ache as his breathing hitched, grew ragged. The sensation of drowning slipped into him before he could finish uttering the thought.

"Canada?" The note of concern tugged at him- pulled at him- yanked. He vaguely found himself staring blankly into Yao's eyes, drowning in the dark depths. Not so dark as Japan, but still with an almost magnetic pull- drowning..."Canada, what is wrong?"

He continued to stare, unseeing as he mentally checked over himself and the link to his people and land. The land itself was unharmed; his people were not in any mortal danger, nor being threatened more than what was normal for this war; he hadn't been in combat for a week himself. Nothing out of the ordinary was wrong, and yet-

_drowning fear hurt worry pain pain pain can't breathe fear worry agony drowning more pain_

The emotions seemed distant somehow, as though he was parted from them by a heavy fabric, like the pain that he was feeling was not really his own, and yet were so familiar to him, as though they were a part of-

The realization snapped Matthew back into full awareness.

"Al..." Canada whispered, feeling/not feeling a mouthful of blood choking him, being forced out of his body and passing over his lips. The connection to his brother- to his _twin- _whose boarders lay along his own, openly allowing their peoples to mingle and pass, and-

It abruptly cut way, breaking, and leaving him reeling. Only China's grip on his upper arms prevented him from falling.

"Matthew!" The frantic voice called him, over and over again, "Matthew, aru!"

"He's hurt... dying... " Matthew managed to choke out, the echo of the taste of blood fading with the pain. That was what the nightmare had meant. Half remembered images flew at him. "He didn't make it out of the plane- the idiot stayed behind to keep it from crashing into a village- Fucking idiot- things like that happen in wars, why did he do that, why-"

"Canada. Matthew." China's grip tightened, "We do not know what happened, other than the fact that their plane was shot down, aru."

"But I know." Matthew's eyes went wide. "I know that Al- I thought it was a dream, but it wasn't mine, and just now I felt him drowning in his own blood- he tried to be a hero, and save some little German village that would've been in the crash zone, and he was trying to make England bail out, and he crashed, and -"

"You are connected with him?" Yao didn't look as skeptical as he had before, more... interested. "That is right, you are shuang bao tai. Paired by birth. Canada, I have never seen a Nation die from something as simple as an accident, however it does not mean he would not be suffering, or that he is not in danger. I hope that what you had was a simple nightmare, brought on by bad food and the stress of a loved one put into danger, aru."

"It wasn't." Matthew said simply, trying to find a thread of that mental connection. "It doesn't happen very often- but when it does... I felt the echoes of his civil war, and more recently, Pearl Harbor. He knew about Halifax the same way. This was the same- it's like he was trying to reach for me, but at the same time, keep this to himself. An instinct to look for comfort."

"Then he is severely injured and in enemy territory. Did America succeed at forcing England to leave? If he did, then the chances are high that England will find him first, and bring him out."

"I- I don't know. It was all too fast, and scattered. A memory not my own that wasn't intact- I don't know if he hit his head, or just blacked out- China, we have two allies missing in action, and one that has been nearly incapacitated within his own lands. I'm afraid." Matthew swallowed hard, "I'm afraid-"

"You are wise then," Yao said, with that neutral expression, "For not fearing such a thing is foolish, and not admitting that fear can be self-deceptive, aru."

"I can't just sit around waiting to hear something, China, I need to do something."

"There is little we can do, until we get more information from our networks," Yao raised a hand as Matthew began to protest, "However, if you will dress yourself, we can begin to coordinate what information we have with both England's and America's forces."


	3. Chapter 3

Lille, France: Mid-Morning

"And so, I told him that his mother was a hamster, and his father smelled of elderberries-" The rough gaffaw that followed was almost too loud for the half tumbled down shack, "And he was so startled, that he dropped his guard. You'd think he'd never heard such an insult before. I thought it was funny."

"I'm certain that it was very humorous, Jean-Louis, mon ami, but I doubt that the Germans will ever laugh at something like that. Perhaps if you used it at an Englishman-" The dark corner of the room gave him a sanctuary from the harsh daylight that poured through the cracks between bomb-loosed boards. For his own vanity, it was better to be veiled in shadow, than to be exposed in sunlight. Especially in this tacky military uniform, and especially with the bandages that covered enough of his face to make him almost unrecognizable. Not chiq, not even close to attractive. Damn his own weaknesses, and inability to stand up-

"I'm not certain that the Germans know how to laugh anymore." The third voice in the room was female, a lovely young lady who had lost her smile somewhere in the past few years. "I'd prefer if they had no cause to ever smile again, Francis- after what they've done to you, and to us-"

"Ah, Felice, mon petit chou- "

"Don't try sweet talking me right now, my Nation. I have a difficult job ahead of me. More questions, more orders, more codes- and the radio is starting to wear out." She gave the pale-eyed nation a wry look. "If trying to gather enough food to sustain our people as they work to gather intelligence is not enough, they have sent a priority alert. Do they not understand that we cannot be searching for every one of their pilots and crew that goes missing over German territories?"

Francis sighed heavily. They could not, he knew, be held to account for every single pilot that failed to be found. They could not stop and search for every missing and wounded fighter that the Nazi forces captured- or nearly captured. If the men that England had just all but commanded him to find didn't just turn up in their normal duties (Sabotage, scavenging, and spying, of course)- they would simply report that they had found nothing.

"They haven't asked us to do that before, have they?" Jean-Louis asked, bringing a cup of the barley-water that substituted for real coffee these days to where France rested in his ugliness concealing shadow. "Did they ask us to keep a look out, or actively look?"

"Active search." Felice answered, with a glance to Francis. "Honestly, I don't remember them ever asking us to actively search for someone before, unless they were extremely important, but these... An escort crew for the last bombing mission to Bad Roth airfields. They're not asking us to search for the entire crew, just the pilot, and an RAF observer. I wouldn't have thought anyone important would have been that close to actual combat. And I've never heard of anyone significant with the name 'Jones' or 'Kirkland'."

Francis froze, chipped porcelein mug resting on his split lip.

"Me neither," Jean-Louis chimed in, "Aren't pilots merely 'captain'?"

"Yes," Felice answered, "Captain Jones, and Major Kirkland- I can almost understand the English wanting one of their majors back that badly, but a captain-"

"Mes amis," Francis pried himself out of the chair, feeling his heart racing. It couldn't be. It couldn't be- they were not supposed to be in danger. If Germany found them- the things that the Nation's military police would do, if they realized what they had... This had to be some other pair of pilots that England was insisting they had to look for. "They are American and English, respectively, correct? Alfred F. Jones, and Arthur Kirkland-"

"Yes, Francis. But how – do you know them? Or why they might be considered important?"

"Yes, my lovely Felice." France sighed, as he managed to limp behind the radio operator's chair, holding onto her shoulder. A lovely support for an old and beaten nation, his child. "I have known them both for many years. The priority alert is well justified. We must find them."

"Pourquois?" Jean-Louis asked, "If they are still free, they will make their way towards us anyhow, and if they are not- London will probably find out which camp and free them."

"If they are free, Jean-Louis, I will kiss them both when I see them, whether they yell and strike me, or no." _Angleterre, you must not be captured, or I will be very cross with you—and America... if you are not free... _ France frowned, "Kirkland is very stubborn, and I doubt that Jones will allow himself to be held for long, even if they wished to capture him. Still, we absolutely must find them. I will go myself, once we are given a general location in which to search."

"You're injured, my Nation." Felice protested. "You can't-"

"I am not so badly injured that I cannot make an effort. If I had been stronger, perhaps they would not be in any danger to begin with."

The radio's familiar buzz cut off any retort that Felice would have made, and she turned her attention back to it.

"This is very important, is it not?" Jean-Louis stood close to France, ready to render aid, should his body give out. But Francis knew he would not fall. Not again- it was time for him to begin the fight once again- if his allies fell because of him...

"World-shaking important, mon ami. If they are lost, we may also be lost."

"Francis," Felice finally threw off her headset, and turned to give the Nation a sour look. "Just who are they, that London would divert an airplane to send us _one man_ to help us find them?"

"They are sending someone?"

"Tonight, at provided coordinates south east of here, one _Captain_ Williams will be meeting with us to provide the necessary information."

"Matthieu..." Ah. Canada. It would follow- if Alfred was missing then Matthew would be worried. "I do not know precisely why he is the one to join us, however, I will say only that the men we seek are of my kind."

"They're-" Jean-Louis cut himself off. "I understand now."

Felice merely nodded.

"So, these coordinates. We should begin to break our little camp to find them- as much as I dislike leaving our luxurious surroundings, mon cher Matthieu will be anxious to move as soon as possible."

Jean-Louis moved efficiently to gather their munitions, while Felice packed the radio.

France whispered a little prayer to Sainte Jeanne for the safety of all, before he began to pack the rest of their gear.

They were going to need all the help they could get.


	4. Chapter 4

Another box.

He opened his eyes, as the box he was in swayed slightly, the sound of an engine echoing through the hollow space. Automatically, he felt for the metal tags around his neck, trying to reassure himself that they were still there, and that he had a name. He was Arthur. Arthur … something. And his head ached horribly, but that was minor compared to the injuries that the pilot-

Alfred.

Was he even still alive?

Alarmed, Arthur sat up straight, looking around the dim compartment, seeing the canvas canopy over an open truck bed's props- _Canvas sails straight and proud catching the wind- _ to find a guard watching him with wary eyes. Gray and black uniform, unfamiliar/familiar. Perhaps this was one of the enemies that Arthur now vaguely remembered the pilot babbling about. There would have to be enemies, if they had been in a military aircraft, with military issue uniforms, and military identification. Judging from the way this soldier was staring at him, he was absolutely correct.

The truck swayed a bit, and Arthur squirmed in the bonds that he hadn't been aware of before. He couldn't see the pilot- what had they done with him? The guard looked slightly more alert, almost afraid of the movement. The clicking of metal on metal reminded Arthur that while the guard was armed, he was a mere prisoner.

"Where is the other man?" Arthur asked him, not entirely certain if the soldier would understand English. Apparently not as the man just stared at him, then glanced towards the dark area next to the truck's cab, where a canvas wrapped figure lay- dark red-brown staining the unbleached material.

"Oh god. No." Arthur thought he might be ill. Black spots swam in front of his eyes for a moment, and the next thing he knew the enemy soldier had grabbed his shoulder, and was now three inches from his face.

"Nein, er ist nict tot." The hard blue eyes told him, then repeated in heavily accented English. "He is not dead. You are both special prisoners, but he is elsewhere, while they remove the foreign object from his body."

Something in Arthur almost relaxed at that. Almost. Alfred was being aided, albeit by enemies- but they were still prisoners, and he had no earthly idea of what-

"Wait.." Arthur said, as the words came back. Was it just a bad translation, or- "Special? How?"

"I was not told, other than you were to be treated more gently than a common citizen. Who are you, that General Beilschmidt would be surprised to see you?" The man waited for another moment to see if Arthur would answer, before returning to his post.

The Englishman could only look at the soldier blankly. Beilschmidt... he didn't know... or maybe he did- if only there wasn't that damned headache, so he could concentrate, and think- nausea washed over him once again, as he tried to force the memories to the surface. Retching, he tried to move, but found the post he was tied to would not let him do more than turn his head.

The soldier kept a fairly neutral expression upon his visage, as he simply watched Arthur up-heave the lack of contents of his stomach onto his left sleeve, and the bed of the truck. There was concern, however, in the shining eyes.

"When we stop for the night, I think a physician should see to you. The General would not like it if we neglected our duties. Perhaps you will be able to see your friend for a moment." Unexpected kindness from the mouth of an enemy- the part about seeing his friend. Although Arthur wasn't completely sure that he was even close to the pilot- Captain Jones, as his dogtags had named him.

"Where are we going?" Arthur swallowed, tried not to cough more acid through his windpipe. That would only make things worse. "I mean, the ultimate destination- I assume it will take more than a day."

And they were special prisoners indeed, if Alfred Jones was being transported separately.

Either that or this General knew the two of them, and thought that together they might cause some sort of ruckus, and escape- _United we stand, and all that._

The words that passed through were a bit bitter, even if they were true.

"Berlin." The simple one-word answer came. "We stop at Kassel for tonight."

"Why are you answering my questions so easily?" Arthur asked, unsure if the answer might be 'because the two of you are being handled with kid gloves so that my boss can rip you apart himself'. That would be... likely. He wasn't sure he really wanted an answer to his questions now, but he asked them anyway. "Why are you being kind?"

"Because General Beilschmidt said that you were to be treated more as a guest for now, and there is no chance that the information will be useful to you. And... you remind me of someone I once knew."

"Ah." Arthur said numbly. "I see."

But he didn't. Not really.

The engine's rumble soothed him back into a troubled slumber that was filled with fire, fear, and small winged creatures that called to him from the clouds sailing outside the small airplane windows.


	5. Chapter 5

London: Late afternoon

"Do not forget to contact us as soon as you find them, aru." China tucked another small silk bag in one of Matthew's pockets, herbs, possibly? "That herb is for when you find them. It is good for bruises- it can be made into tea, or the leaves may be chewed. There a few more remedies within your medical kit that will help your brother, if he is as badly injured as you believe. I left you notes."

"I understand." Canada gave China a faint smile, as he started for the transport that would take him to France. He'd not really expected to be believed as readily as he had been, nor had he expected that they would entrust him with this- but they had, and both Alfred's and Arthur's people had equipped him in short order and arranged for this transport. "Take care of Kuma for me. We'll all be back soon."

The flight was as quiet as one could have imagined a large engine plane could have. Very few of the British SOE crew actually talked to Matthew, as he nervously sat in the holding area that he would be parachuting out of as soon as dark fell. He didn't blame them- they were going into enemy territory, they needed to focus on their job, just as he needed to focus on his.

Briefly, he touched the maps concealed in his breast pocket. Maps marked by those who had survived the mission. A more pinpointed location than China had been able to give him early this morning. He'd been right, he found, correct in the existence of a village directly in the flight path that would have been damaged by a plane as large as one of America's bombers hitting it dead center.

'It looked like it was going into a controlled glide,' one of the tailgunners from the other escort had told him, 'Only saw eight parachutes- should have been eleven- and the craft kinda pulled its nose up for a while- right up until the wing fell off. Think it missed the houses. I kinda hope Cap'n Jones wasn't still on there, but trying to save a bunch of Kraut civies seems like something he'd do..'

Matthew shuddered at the mix of memories, both dream and story. The conversation had cemented it; the plane had crashed with at least his brother aboard. The dream had been too scattered for him to tell if England had managed to escape or not. So he was flying into occupied territory to find out for certain.

He suspected that the main reason that China had been so supportive about sending him was because it would mean that the main European allies would be kept busy, however the Nation had seen what had happened to Canada that morning. If Alfred was alive (And he had to be, Nations didn't die that easily), Matthew would be able to feel it- and better, he might even be able to sense how close he was to his brother.

They were, after all, linked by more than just sharing a continent.

The drop point was still a half hour away, and Canada was ready.

He only hoped that nothing else would go wrong for the Allies today.


	6. Chapter 6

The next time Arthur awakened, it was dark; the noise of the truck that he'd been riding in was gone, leaving only the soft chirp of insects, and the sound of the guard who had been with him for the ride outside arguing with someone in a gutteral sounding language in front of the closed flap.

Then again, German had always sounded like an angry language to him- they could just has well have been reciting love poems to one another.

The thought was passing, but hopeful. He'd finally recognized something in this insane situation he'd gotten himself stuck in, but the new questions in his mind was 'have we finally stopped for the night?' Along with 'Where is my pilot now?'

Abruptly the canvas flap was jerked open, revealing the dark outlile of a figure behind a blindingly bright torch.

Arthur flinched back, feeling the twinge of wounds that he'd almost managed to forget in his stiff body, and the stab in his head that heralded the return of the headache that had been plaguing him since he'd awakened.

The figure barked something- an order- to the guard, who was obviously behind him.

"My apologies for leaving you alone for so long, Herr Kirkland." There was a peculiar stress on the name that Arthur couldn't place. "My lieutenant should have called me earlier. Your wounds should have been tended hours ago.

The light was pulled back enough so that it was no longer in Arthur's eyes, and blinked hazily through the lingering pain at the figure, which now was revealed as the tall blond man who he had last seen at the crash site, leaning over Arthur, while he had been-

"Is the pilot still alive?" the question popped out before he could think to say anything else. Not 'Is he all right?' because there was no way in hell that whatever medical treatment that Jones had received in a moving vehicle would have made everything all better-

_ "Kiss it and make it better, Arthur!"_ _The small voice told him, "Please- it hurts!" _

_ Such a demand could not go unfulfilled, and Arthur pressed his lips against the scrape._

_ "There, love. You'll be fine now."_

The blond blinked at him, a faint confused frown crossing his stern face.

"Are you well, Herr Kirkland?"

"My head still aches- It is rather rude to knock an injured man in the head before giving him a chance to come along peacefully, isn't it." He probably shouldn't have said that, Arthur realized, as he was finishing his sentence. Treated as a guest or no-

"My men were a bit over enthusiastic," Came the reply after a pause that went on for far too long for Arthur's taste or nerves. "And to answer your question, Captain Jones is still among the living. It would take far more than a mere plane crash to kill him- as you should know."

The last phrase, low, and almost whispered made Arthur flinch.

Obviously this man knew something that he could not remember. He knew something about both of them- and in particular, knew Arthur- but not necessarily by the name he had discovered before. It made him more nervous. Wary.

"May I see him then, General?" The identity of this blond stranger was obvious. The certainty and commanding nature, the way he knew things-

Another one of those strange looks from the tall German officer.

"Once your own injuries have been cleaned up and seen to, perhaps." Another pause, almost as if the officer was waiting for something. "You are unusually quiet, Herr Kirkland. It makes me concerned."

"What would you have me say? You have me at a disadvantage. I cannot even offer to shake your hand, while tied like this." Arthur tugged at his arms, wincing as some muscle or another decided to twinge in protest.

The officer moved swiftly, squatting in front of Arthur, then reaching around to lose his bonds.

Arthur merely sat still.

"I am not certain I prefer your silence, England." The voice hissed in his ear, as the General passed close enough that no other would be able to hear. "What are you playing at now?"

"I'm not playing." Arthur frowned. England. Why did that- Another wave of dizziness made him almost wish he could vomit, and get it over with, rather than just cling to consciousness while the world around him rippled in obscenely nauseating ways. "Ugh-"

The General was scowling, however there was a bit of curiosity in those blue eyes that watched Arthur while he fought the urge to curl up in a little ball on the floor, now that he was able to move away from the pole. With another barked order to his subordinate outside the vehicle, the other man snatched Arthur from the floor, and slung him over one broad shoulder.

Arthur could only yelp, as bruised ribs were punished.

"I am taking you to A- your friend, and the physician who can bandage that cut on your head- stay silent, and do not puke on my uniform."

Fortunately the trip was a short one, during which Arthur barely had time to think about being sick, let alone actually restrain his body from giving in to the automatic reaction to having his head upside-down and swimming.

He didn't see much of the place where they were sheltering beyond the momentary glimpses of the military vehicles and a moonlit forest before he was thrust back into bright light once more.

A few growled words, then a half dozen orders barked in more of that angry sounding language, and Arthur found himself being set carefully down upon what looked to be a well-worn settee. Another unfamiliar face hovering about immediately replaced the general's and began to poke and prod at his sore body with an air of hasty professionalism.

"Concussion- moderate to severe, most likely," The man reported in broken English "Broken ribs, probably bruises- but this is the worst of it, from what I see. He was fortunate."

The small flashlight, that had been stabbing him in the eye (God, why was everyone insisting on shining lights in his face?) was pocketed, and he felt a finger tapping tender flesh on the left side ofhis face. He couldn't see the General's reaction, while his eyes tried to adjust from the (second) light assault.

"This will need stitches, if you deem it necessary, sir."

"Do what you must." The words were harsh, and from the look on the medic's face, a bit of a surprise for him. "They must be in a condition to survive what awaits them in Berlin."

Arthur felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees, and shivered.

"As you command," The needle was produced, threaded while Arthur watched. He couldn't take his eyes of the glint of silver, which had become his unwilling focus.

"Look elsewhere, " The harshly accented German medic ordered him, "It will help more if you don't move, and focusing on something else you will be less likely to wiggle. That will be easier for both of us."

Obediently, but with an effort, Arthur pulled his gaze away, instead fixing it upon the fireplace. Wide. Brick. Very home-y. The knick-knacks were still lining the mantelpiece, though knocked askew as though the earth had been shaken beneath the happy home- soft rug, of a particular brilliant blue that looked like the sky on a lazy summer afternoon in-

This wasn't a base, he realized, trying to ignore the steady pricking of the skin above his left temple, the way the medic continued to swab at the sticky skin. This was someone's home.

A final tug at the stitches went nearly unnoticed, as he let his eyes wander,. While somewhere in his mind he was noting the pattern embroidered on the curtains, his eyes finally came to rest on the spot where the General stood, arms folded, observing. His disapproving gaze and grey uniform looked very out of place in this warm and comfortable parlor.

"Finished." The medic announced unnecessarily, now swathing a bandage over his morbid needlework. "Quite a job, between that hair and those eyebrows."

Arthur blinked numbly. _Eyebrows?_

One hand automatically went up to try and figure out what the medic could mean- only to have it swatted away from the bandages.

"Don't disturb my hard work. I won't be so kind a second time."

The general's stern expression grew, if anything, a little more stern and puzzling.

"You may return to your other patient now, Alfons." The General spoke firmly, "The guards are watching the perimeter, and I can handle one prisoner. Herr Kirkland and I must speak privately."

"As you have ordered, General Beilschmidt, sir. My second and I will do our best-" Bloody gauze was swept off the table, and instruments were tucked away, without a second glance, and then a low muttered phrase that alarmed Arthur, made his breath catch in his throat, not really understanding _why_. "Even if it is a lost cause."

Alfred Jones was alive, but if this medic's attitude was true, not for much longer.

"That will do, Alfons." snapped the General. "Treat him as though he will survive, Jones must be alive when we reach Berlin, and it is your duty to make certain that he is."

Arthur felt himself shaking. Why was the idea of the young pilot- and he was_ young _couldn't have been more than nineteen- dying strike him so hard? It couldn't just be because the man was his only friendly clue as to his own identity, who he was before the flames and the pain. This General Beilschmid knew him- but the boy..

"Yes, sir." Alfons' tone had gone to an abrupt and subordinate one as Arthur vaguely heard his footsteps fade.

"Now." The General had moved while Arthur was not looking, and now loomed over him. "It is time for you to answer a few of my questions. Why are you in my land, England?"

"I-" Arthur tilted his shaking and aching head up to look at the man. Odd, how the general was addressing him by his homeland's name, rather than 'Herr Kirkland' now. "It wasn't by choice, I assure you."

"Obviously. You wouldn't have chosen to fly an airplane into the ground to make an entrance. Your young companion, however- I would not put it past him, on most days." A frown, a deep and searching gaze as a gloved hand reached for Arthur's chin. "You were aboard an escort for a bombing mission to one of my airfields, were you not?"

"If you say so." Arthur danced around the question nervously. The harsh tones would turn into strikes, he was certain, however the need to answer with a flippant evasion seemed a better response than to meekly tell the truth. Even if it meant his interrogator would become angry.

"You will tell us what we need to know," Icy eyes bored into his own. What color were his eyes anyway? The stray thought flashed through unbidden. "Your capture means that we are well on our way to victory. You will find it less painful if you cooperate."

"Less painful than crashing an aircraft into the ground, I assume. Being a prisoner of war was not on my list of achievements for today, and being a collaborator is far from the top as well." Arthur shivered again, trying to pull his face and eyes away from the perfect blond haired blue eyed figure. "You said that I could see Alfred. I won't answer any of your questions if you don't allow me to see him, and if he dies- cooperation is right out."

The eyes narrowed, and the fingers tightened. Again, the gaze was intense, as General Beilschmidt seemed to search his eyes for something. Arthur steeled himself, and kept himself steady as he stared right back.

He would have said something else, Arthur had been certain, if it hadn't been for a sudden yell from the back of the house in German.

Narrowed eyes widened briefly, and then narrowed once more, as he called back in the same language, then dropped his hand to Arthur's wrist, pulling him along as he headed towards the yelling.

"What-" Arthur managed to say, almost ready to pull his arm back.

"You wanted to see him," General Beilschmidt said, yanking open a door, "The medics are having... a difficulty. You may help them."

"But I'm not a-" Arthur started to protest as he was shoved into what was obviously someone's bedchamber. The words were cut off at the sight that lay before him.

Blood-soaked sheets and bandages, and a pale and bruised face with eyes the color of a summer sky wildly searching for something in the small room, while the man who had treated Arthur's wounds attempted to hold him still as he thrashed, and made incoherent sounds- _(Futile to even try to hold the boy back- he was far too strong for-)_

And his partner was reeling beside the guard-de-robe on the opposite side of the room.

There was a faint blue tinge to the pale skin around his lips, half exposed chest nearly white beneath its tan, and discolored with bruises and burns. And blood— more blood- spreading under swaths of fabric bandages from the area where Arthur remembered the metal shard to have been lodged.

. There were more orders being barked once more, but Arthur didn't understand them. All he could do was step forward, as the General's hand pulled him to the flailing man's bedside. Narrowly, Beilschmidt dodged a blow- and brought Arthur into the range of the patient's wildly searching vision.

The oddly warm blue focused on Arthur, and he felt a lump form in his throat, his chest aching as though he'd been punched. (Isn't blue a cold colour? Why do these eyes seem warm?) A blink, and sudden recognition fitting through the other man's awareness.

The flailing stopped immediately.

"Alfred..." Arthur started to reach a hand out to touch the boy, but paused- glancing over at the medic who was giving both of them a relieved look. The medic nodded, busying himself with something in his kit, then briefly over the now still arm. His hand cupped a battered cheek gently. "Shh, my lad, everything will be fine."

There was something calmer about the face now, but still- a fear lingered.

Blue eyes fought to remain open, but inevitably fluttered closed.

"Everything will be fine."


	7. Chapter 7

Midnight: French- Belgium Border

Drifting under the dark canopy of both fabric and stars, Matthew had no time to even think about sleeping, let alone pursuing the faint traces of nightmare that tickled at the back of his mind. The moonlit field below him looked almost like a land from one of England's old fairy tales.

And for a moment, Canada completely understood why his twin loved the skies so much, and had spent so much time flying over the past couple of decades. It was one of those odd things that most people wouldn't have thought of Alfred, the noisy, larger-than-life representation of a nation that held so much promise and beauty. America the beautiful, the land of the brave.

The skies held both the element of risk, with the unexpected winds, and the daring that it required in order to break gravity's hold- but it also held a peace, and a silence that most Nations would never believe that someone like Alfred could enjoy.

And yet, he truthfully did.

Matthew knew from the smiles, and the utter joy radiating from his brother after a successful flight- even if it was one that was uneventful. Alfred just loved to fly.

The treeline was level in Matthew's sight, as he tugged on one of his ropes to try and steer himself away from stray branches. No sense in getting caught in a tree. He had no doubt that he could easily free himself, but the chute would be a huge giveaway about his landing, even if there was supposed to be someone here to meet him when he landed. Well, in the general area, at least.

In the dark, it would be far too difficult to conceal the giant swath of fabric.

If there was anything that Matthew loved, it would have to be something that involved having both feet planted firmly on the ground, and fortunately for him, that moment came swiftly, and without the broken bones and bruises that some of his men received when they went on a jump.

He froze in the midst of de-tangling, and cutting himself loose himself from the chute when the bushes began rustling. Germans? Collaborating French?

A tall slender figure exited the forest with an almost careless ease, white bandages and light hair glimmering in the moonlight. The figure headed almost directly towards him, and Matthew couldn't help but unclip his revolver, prepared to dive into the grass.

"Matthieu?" A familiar voice whispered, barely audible above the rushing winds, and burbling of a creek somewhere close. "C'est tu?"

"Francis?" Incredible. Of all the luck that he'd been having over the past few days, this- "It's really you?"

The gun was forgotten in the sudden rush for the men to embrace. France had been away from the meetings for so long- and Germany had divided him- but it looked as though-

"You're alive! I am so glad- we were worried, when Paris was taken, and you—"

"My cell got the message. Germany may have physically captured my heart, but he will never fully take it." Francis' face was a far cry from the normal happily carefree expression. He was dead on serious. "I heard about your brother, and I do hope we can find him."

"And England." Matthew added, "I think England didn't bail out either. The men said the popped chutes were three short."

"Angleterre as well-"

"My Nation," A female voice hissed from the shadows. "It is not wise to stand in the middle of a field and hold such conversations after curfew. We must dispose of the chute, and move on before they send someone to investigate a rumor of the British flyover."

Matthew jolted.

"Ah, oui." Francis moved stiffly to aid Matthew with the pack, "Felice- my radio operator, and confidante. Jean-Louis is securing the route which we will be taking towards Germany. We will talk when we get to our petit vehicle."

Felice turned out to be a businesslike waif of a girl, who Francis nearly doted on. (Matthew wasn't jealous at all. No way.) and Jean-Louis was a tall brunette, who was waiting next to the car that- well. France hadn't been exaggerating when he'd called it the 'petit vehicle'. It was tiny. And they would be crowded into that-

"Ah. First order of business is to determine where exactly we our destination shall be. We do not need to casually ride in the cover of darkness with no goal, it would waste our precious petrol, and leave us more vulnerable to the enemy." Francis had definitely become more businesslike now, despite the bruises that Jean-Louis' dark lantern showed in its dim light.

Matthew produced the map, spreading it on the bonnet of the car.

"Here," he told them, "The last coordinates that the pilots had for their plane was a few miles south south east of Haltern. The tailgunner said that it pulled up a bit over the city, but when the wing went-"

Canada had to swallow hard, and try to keep his professional attitude. Francis must have picked up on it, because his hand was on Matthew's arm, patting it, as he paused.

"So they crashed in the wooded area, somewhere north and possibly west of Haltern."

"If they went down near a city, I'm certain that the Nazis have already been informed, and they will be securing the site." Felice said quietly. "Anyone alive aboard the wreckage would have been taken prisoner, in hopes for information. One can hope that no one could know who they really are, or we will have more problems than just rationing."

Matthew glanced at France.

"They know who I am, Matthieu, and who the others are. I trust them both implicitly- they merely want their beautiful country back to the way it was before Germany decided to be an idiot." Francis smiled faintly, "But we will have to find a way to get the location of prisoners from this particular area."

"Oui, Francis. If they are not together, we will most certainly have to find Arthur." Matthew smiled faintly, "Alfred is not so difficult to find. We are linked, as you remember."

"Linked- you mean you can-" Francis' eyes widened slightly.

"I awoke from seeing what had happened- or most of what had happened- this morning. And I can still feel echoes of him. He's hurt pretty badly, from what I can tell." Matthew sighed, "But I couldn't tell if he convinced Arthur to bail, or not."

"Then we will have to worry about our Angleterre. If you so much as get a hint-"

"I will let you know, Francis." Matthew rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. "I think he's still not sure, wherever he is, because his worry is leaking over to me. We should go."

"Agreed." Jean-Louis said, "My apologies for the size of our vehicle, Captain Williams, but a car of this size is easier to hide than a truck, when we stop for a rest."

Once settled in, the vehicle was more comfortable than Matthew had expected, and soon, he found himself slowly slipping into a light slumber.

The dreams came swiftly, however.

_Worry. Fear. Pain. Pain pain pain- where is he where is- oh god, pain- can't breathe- let me go- have to- Green eyes, and messy sandy blond hair hovering over, looking far more concerned than he could have ever expected. Than he ever deserved, considering everything- It was his fault, and now they were both prisoner, and- god it hurt hurt hurt-_

_ A cool hand touched his cheek._

_ "Everything will be fine."_

_ The world slowly faded into darkness._


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a long journey for Matthieu, Francis mused as the boy dozed on his shoulder. A long day of terror and preparation for danger. The sort of day which France had known quite a nuber of lately. Ludwig's boss had not been kind, not allowed him to be kind, even on the best of days. And on the worst- Francis suppressed a shudder so as not to awaken his Matthieu.

The silence was only broken by the sound of the engine switching gears as Jean-Louis drove a path that he and the maps worked out- with help from the delightful Felice, of course.

His resistance, the Maquis.

His people.

France was proud of the way so many had found the courage to work against Germany and his Nazi regime's occupation. The way that they were working together with Americans and Britons to give Ludwig a shove back towards where he belonged.

France would not allow himself to be completely lost without a fight.

Felice and Jean-Louis had argued against taking him with them, directly into the lands of the enemy, however the pride of France would demand no less than to aid his allies directly. Even England, whose legendary defiance and sour temper could no longer argue that he had never done anything for his friends who fought so valiantly. Not that it would stop the smaller nation from pointing out his flaws, or the way that England's and America's people were aiding him in doing such.

Francis actually did miss the fights that hadn't been happening since he'd been trapped within his own boarders. He didn't really hate his neighbor, and sometime ally (and just as often, enemy). The fighting was more of a game to him, a bit of excitement in his otherwise painfully long existence.

A whimper broke the quietude of the car as Matthieu stirred. Canada was dreaming, it appeared, and as much as Francis wished only blessed and beautiful sleep for his former colony, it did not seem that was the case. Nightmares about his brother, more likely.

Or... perhaps more information. A direction.

France paused in his thoughts, to softly brush the long silky strands of blond hair out of the younger man's face. Should he wake the boy, or allow his body to rest?

The decision was taken from him, when eyes suddenly flew open, and Canada sat up straight.

Felice turned to give them a curious glance, and Francis could see that Jean-Louis was using the cracked rear view mirror to monitor them.

"Matthieu?" Francis ventured, after the boy just stared blankly ahead, breathing rapidly for more time than France thought was healthy.

"I-" Matthieu sighed, winding down, breathing becoming normal. "I wish I could just have some normal sleep. These dreams-"

"What was it this time?"

"They are prisoners. The Nazis have them."

A frown, hidden by the darkness of midnight.

"They?"

"I think. If Alfred isn't hallucinating- Arthur is with him. Something seems off though."

"Off, how?"

"I don't know. It's hard to tell. He's in so much pain-" Francis could see the glimmer of tears in a shaft of moonlight that had crept in the window while he wasn't looking. "Francis, I'm not sure-"

"Everything will be all right, mon petit chou." Francis patted the boy's shoulder, and pulled him into an embrace.

"That's what Arthur said-" There was a shiver. "I'm just so worried- they're prisoner, and being transported further into Germany. What if-"

"Shh, mon petit. We will find a way."

"We have to. They need help" Matthieu said, grimly. "Or Alfred will die-"


	9. Chapter 9

12:30 am Near Kassel, Germany

Once Alfred had calmed down, and been sedated- the medic had quickly found his supply of drugs once he no longer had to deal with a flailing man- Arthur had been allowed to stay with Alfred, until his eyes closed. The blue eyes had locked onto his, fighting against unconsciousness, as though Arthur was everything keeping him hanging on, as though-

"He cares more for you than it he let on, it seems." Beilschmidt's voice reminded Arthur that he was there, even as the Englishman gently touched the unconscious man's cheek. He moved only when the medics asked, so that they could continue to attempt to patch together what was broken, and re-patch what had been torn apart when the American had regained consciousness however briefly. "And you, he. Come. He will not awaken again tonight, and you... should be asleep yourself."

Reluctantly, Arthur turned to follow, the resigned, and morose atmosphere around the medics making him horribly afraid that if he left, he might not see those blue eyes open again. He swiftly found himself jumping as something- someone- moved beside him. His head came up, and...

So did the other man's. Bandaged, pale- bruised. Arthur found himself staring at forest green eyes, a mop of sandy hair, and enormous eyebrows. One hand raised to fend off the stranger, who was likely a prisoner like himself- and the other did likewise.

A mirror.

His eyes widened, as he took in his own appearance.

Yes, the eyebrows comment had been somewhat justified, but all in all, the skinny, pale man in the mirror was unfamiliar. Even if the splotches of blood and other things that dirtied his uniform ("_You have to keep it all up- Iron the damned shirt, even if it will be hidden by your jacket, you git-" _

"_But Arthur, no one will see-")_

"Herr Kirkland?" The voice needled into his head, "Arthur Kirkland."

Arthur tore himself away from his reflection.

"Is there something the matter, Herr Kirkland?" Beilschmidt watched him suspiciously. Did he know now? _(Don't ever make it easy for your enemies, boy. If you let your guard down, you could die.)_

"Nothing is wrong," Arthur forced himself to say casually, "I just look a fright, that's all. Haven't seen a mirror all day. This uniform is ruined."

The suspicion didn't leave the General's face, as he opened the door, and escorted Arthur to the room next door. Another bedroom.

"You will be guarded in here. I do not think I have to tell you what will happen if you attempt to escape- though I doubt you will leave … your friend behind. Make the most of this opportunity, England. It may be the last bed you sleep in."

The door closed behind the General, leaving Arthur alone in the sparsely furnished room.

The situation was not one that he had truly expected- but then again, what _had_ he expected?

Chains and dungeons?

To be shot on sight?

He could only wish it were so simple.

If only they'd let him at least stay in the same room as Alfred, perhaps something would have triggered his memory, if only he could remember something beyond the crash-

Another wave of pain, and nausea crossed over him, sending him to his knees.

All right then, so trying to force the issue seemed to be causing his ailments. But Beildschmidt knew him, and suspected that there was something amiss. And for some reason, a part of Arthur wanted very desperately not to let the man know. But why? Who knows what Ludwig would do if-

A stab of pain at his temple.

But there was something. The general's name- why would Arthur know it? They knew each other, obviously.

Arthur was forced to give up after nearly losing what remained of the contents of his stomach.

Flopping on the bed, he stared at the ceiling. The period of time earlier that he'd spent unconscious made it difficult to sleep. Now he'd be trying to wonder, and keep from wondering- and this was the first opportunity he'd had to think it over.

"Albion!" at first he thought he'd imagined the tiny voice calling. "Albion, are you all right?"

Someone was calling, but who were they-

A tiny hand touched his forehead, making him bolt upright, nearly knocking the tiny winged creature out of the air. What the hell? He stared in wide-eyed wonder, as a fairy- oh god, it was a fairy- neatly dodged his head, and hovered a foot away from his face with a look of concern on her tiny face.

"Albion, I nearly lost track of you in all the iron in this place. Are you all right?"

"I-" It- she- was addressing _him_?

"Who- are you?" He asked, reaching out a bare hand to touch the tiny thing. It was beautiful, and delicate, and wonderful, and –

She giggled, as he made contact.

"Stop that, it tickles!" She flew backwards away from his hand, "Albion, you really shouldn't joke about things right now. You're in deep trouble. I shouldn't have to tell you about that- Germany is probably planning naughty and bad things to do to you, and you're just sitting here."

"I-" Arthur blinked. "You're a fairy."

"No kidding." The little creature frowned at him."Albion... you're acting strange."

"I'm acting strange." Arthur echoed. "Why are you calling me Albion? My name is Arthur. Fairies are- am I going mad, to go along with the rest of this?"

"Oh, my dear Albion-" The fairy lost the scowl that had begun to form on her tiny perfect face, and instead flew to his face to touch his forehead. "Whatever has happened? Tell me, please! I will try to help you if I can."

"I-" Arthur wondered if the madness would worsen if he continued to talk to his hallucination. Was that another symptom of concussion? Or perhaps another way for that German man to find out his secret. "I was in a plane crash, with... someone. And right now I'm terribly afraid that the pilot is injured far too gravely for them to save him And he's-"

"The pilot? You said you were going to be going with- oh! You mean America."

"He's American, yes- Alfred Jones. And I don't know if he'll-"

"England?" The fairy said, tiny eyes widening, "Arthur?"

"Now you have my name. Arthur. A pleasure to meet you. And I don't have your name yet, I'm afraid."

"You- I-" The fairy seemed at a loss for a moment. "Call me Belle, but Alb- Arthur- What of Am- Alfred? The silly boy got you both into a bit of trouble with his hero complex, didn't he."

"That's the thing. I don't really know- all I do know is that he- I don't think he's going to live through the night. The medics are weary, and they're only human- they can't magically heal every patient- and there was so much blood, Belle."

"Albion, my love," The fairy's face was a bit teary. She would have probably continued to speak, if it had not been for the yelling from the room next door, and in the hallway. Unfortunately it was all in German, however, Arthur had a suspicion-

"Blast it... I wish I understood-" Arthur felt tears forming, "If my friend is about to die, I- don't know what I will do. They may lock me in chains to keep me from running, rather than keep me with his continued breath-"

Belle's tiny face gave him a decidedly odd smile, that reminded him faintly of Beilschmidt's, then a tiny face pressed against his forehead, and then the little rush of wind told him that she'd moved to his ear.

"It isn't much, but I can give you understanding. Not speech, mind you-" tiny lips brushed his ear, and her voice whispered a soft word that he knew wasn't English- not an English that he should recognize, that is. _Understand._

The voices in the hallway were still harsh, but now Arthur understood them-

"Magic..." he whispered, and then shook himself. Of course it was magic. This was a fairy- unless it was just madness, but if it were real.. he silenced himself to listen.

"...lost too much blood. Between the broken bones, the facial injuries, and that damned spike that we pulled out, he's just too weak, General. Struggling like that only worsened the damage. His lung has collapsed. If we are to keep him alive, we need a real hospital, and a supply of blood to replace that which he is losing as we attempt to stitch him back together."

"Do what you can, Alfons." The general's voice almost echoed in its intensity, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty. "I- need him alive."

"His heart has stopped twice already, sir. It will cause more hurt than help if we must restart it again. It might be kinder -"

"No." There was a firmness, "If he needs blood, then-"

"Blood is one of the major concerns, yes, however his tags don't give a blood type, and I don't have the equipment to find that information in my kit."

"I know his type. I have encountered him before- where and how is classified." The voice moved, sounding as though it were just outside of Arthur's closed door. "In your opinion, is Prisoner Kirkland able to donate such that we need without endangering his life?"

"Sir..." Alfons' voice came a bit softer, "The other prisoner might be able to produce about half of what we would need to keep his circulatory system from collapse, any more, and we would lose both of them, instead of just the one."

"And half would carry him until we arrived in Berlin?"

"No, it would merely weaken Herr Kirkland-"

"Then there is no choice." The voice mused. "Begin setting up for the transfusion."

"Sir?"

"I cannot allow either of them to die here. That would not suit our strategies at all. Kirkland will serve as one donor, and I will fill the rest of the need. I am not injured right now- one could say it is for 'old times sake'. I will be able to carry on with my duties, Jones will live, and Kirkland will be too weak to make an escape attempt..." Arthur could almost hear the frown, as he contemplated the words- he was to help- "Perhaps he will be more amenable to talking-"

Arthur peeked at the fairy, who was also listening with wide eyes and rapt attention.

"Albion. Arthur, you must save your friend." She whispered, "I will use what charms I have to strengthen both of you. Any more, and I must find others of my kind. Germany is correct. America cannot fail now- he must live!"

The door swung open, and General Beildschmidt's lean frame stood in the doorway.

Arthur frowned. He could betray that he now understood the language, except that he hadn't before, and it would be difficult to explain why he'd not understood before—but Magic-the fairy might be a dead givaway- he glanced at where she had settled on his shoulder.

"Herr Kirkland. Your friend requires your assistance once more." the general said, apparently not noticing the sprite. "Come with me."

"Is he giving you trouble again? He seems to like to do that." Automatic responses. Arthur obediently rose, trying not to betray the new knowledge, as he studied the impressive figure. No flicker of recognition, not even a hint of his eyes resting on the fairy-

"He cannot see nor hear me, Albion." The fairy told him, "Cooperate for now. If it saves Alfred-"

"Jones gives everyone trouble, as you well know, Herr Kirkland." There was a bare hint of a smile. The first that Arthur had seen. "He needs you. Or more specifically, he needs your blood in order to survive."

So, the German was going to be honest.

"And if I refuse?" Arthur tested the atmosphere, noting the hard set of the jaw. This was as important to the man. "What will you do?"

"I will give him mine- however we both know that he would prefer it to be yours." A glimmer of humor. "And you know that you would not want me to taint your boy. Swiftly, England. You must decide- shall he die, live with my taint, or will you save him yet again?"

"All right then." Arthur acquiesced, noting another glimmer of puzzlement in the other man's face. Perhaps he had given in too easily- The headache had lessened with Belle on his shoulder, so he could see the details. This man- Beilschmidt- knew him well enough to try and needle him. The general knew there was something amiss, and Arthur couldn't help but fall into the traps that were being laid before him, nor call him on the lies that he had just been told- "Best hurry before he decides to do something foolish."

Back to the other room, Arthur was led- the fairy stayed with him, whispering something about how she'd stay with him a little longer-

Her soft gasp was loud in his ear.

Even with a limited understanding of medicine, of the world, Arthur could see that the young man on the bed was dying.

The hardened gaze of the medic and his cohort told him as much, as they gave hooded glances between the General and the figure that lay motionless on the bed.

It was almost as though they were saying 'Why continue to try?', even as they followed the general's order to prepare the entirely too limp figure- _(Alfred's face wreathed in a lively smile as he said something unclear in his memory that was obviously meant to irk Arthur, as he ducked out of range immediately afterward – and laughed riotously. Too much energy, that one- it was a wonder that Arthur hadn't worn himself to rags keeping up with-) _

Arthur blinked back tears.

His cooperation would buy the boy some time, but how much, and would it be worth it in the end? Ludwig's boss would hurt them further, and probably execute them in the end.

"Arthur," Belle whispered, as though the others in the room could hear her. "Oh, England. Your beautiful America- "

But he really wasn't beautiful like this. Bruised and still, when he should be whole and lively- and annoying the piss out of everyone, not just the medics.

The memories taunted him, just out of reach, as Alfons led him to the great chair that had been hastily put in pace of the table next to the bed. His eyes not leaving Alfred's face, Arthur allowed the medic to poke, prod, and finally stick him with the dreaded needle.

"You do not have to watch." Alfons said in his heavily accented English. "We must stitch a few things back together. It will be -"

"I'm fine." Arthur said dully, "I've forgotten more blood and gore,and violence than you will ever know."

And it felt... right.

Beilschmidt seemed to think so, as well, because he made a sound that was halfway between a grunt, and a 'Ja'.

Belle didn't correct him. That was almost as frightening as watching this operation- while a rubber tube drew his life-fluid from his own body, and into Alfred's. Hope was a small thing with wings, that fluttered in Arthur's chest, as he let his eyes slowly close, trusting- ah hope- that all would not be in vain, and he would not finish up dead, and Alfred would not finish up dead, and they both would be home in time for tea.


	10. Chapter 10

Dawn: Haltern, Germany

Matthew couldn't sleep.

For the past hour, Felice had slipped through byways and back roads in Belgium and Germany that Canada would have never believed a vehicle less than a tank would survive- but the little car had done it.

It was Francis' turn to snore on Canada's shoulder, and Matt wouldn't begrudge him that. Not with the little signs of occupation-related injuries that he bore without a complaint. (Quite unusual for Francis not to complain when he thought his beauty marred- but these were strange times.) Jean-Louis dozed in the front passenger seat, responding only when Felice asked him a quiet question.

It left Matthew a lot of time to think.

The sun was rising over a stand of trees, as Felice pulled the car onto a heavily rutted path— probably used by farmers to take their cattle to market, or something- and they bounced their merry way to a small barn, with attached small house.

A home-y place, and almost completely isolated.

Felice pulled into the barn with little hesitation, then, as she put the brake on, she pulled out a pistol from a hidden holster.

"Jean-Louis, wake up and get ready."

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked in a low voice.

"There were trucks here yesterday- they tore up the field. I need to make sure the family has not been compromised."

Matthew hadn't noticed. Sometimes he wondered if he was as unobservant as his brother- but then, his brother really wasn't _that _oblivious, and Canada was really really tired. Felice was gone before he could form the offer to go with her.

Jean-Louis tapped his hands on the steering wheel for the next five minutes, until Felice appeared at the entrance to tug the big barn doors closed again.

"The Nazi scum were here yesterday, and left just as swiftly," Felice delivered the news, "There's a crash site here, all right. Damned krauts let it burn all night."

"Which way?" Matthew was out of the car, leaving Francis to sleep peacefully in the back.

"Slow down, idiot-" Felice grabbed his shoulder before he could take a step out of the barn. "First, there will be a patrol in the area. Our hosts know more about it than I do, so they are the ones who will help us avoid getting caught. Second- the thing is still burning. Fuel might be a precious commodity around here, but even a Kraut knows better than to siphon from a tinderbox."

Matthew made himself calm down, shoving his glasses up his nose with a sigh.

"Third, our hosts saw and heard things we need to know. Two people were pulled out alive, one body was found, and they're still scouring the countryside for those chutes."

"Do they know where the survivors were being taken?"

"Berlin." A new voice said from a door that Matthew hadn't noticed before. Really. Really. Tired. "Come inside, children, I have breakfast, such as it is, and you are welcome to our home."

An ancient-looking man stood in the doorway, silver-white hair and wrinkled face telling of an age that was beyond what Matthew had seen in a human- at least not for a very long time. A sad little smile on the old face beckoned them to come in- as did the sudden odor of food, wafting out through the open door.

"Matthieu?" Francis murmured, as he popped out of the vehicle, stretching. "Do I smell-"

"Ah, France. I am honoured to have you under my roof. Come." The old man said with an almost impatient twitch of his hand. "My lady and I have much to impart to you to aid with your mission."

It took a good ten minutes before they were all settled around a heavy wooden table in the kitchen, served by an equally elderly woman, who smiled at them all, with only a faint hint of sadness in her brown eyes.

"Esther can't talk. Fever a few years back took her voice- but we understand each other well enough."

The food itself was good and plentiful. Better than good- and completely unexpected.

"Rationing only works if you're in a city. You should know that-" explained the man, Wilhelm, as Felice introduced him. "Those of us who live from what the land provides us can do better- almost got caught this time, but Esther found a way to hide our 'nefarious activities'."

Esther smiled, and passed Canada another glass of milk. Goat's milk, it seemed- and fresh.

"We do what we can to help, so when those bastards chose to drive through our fields, we were frightened-" Wilhelm ignored the chastising glance from Esther at his language. "If it hadn't been for the crash, we would have been completely unprepared."

"The crash-" Matthew said softly. "Can you tell us anything?"

"One of the consequences of getting old- if you're a human, anyway, don't know about Nations-" Wilhelm gave a glance to France, "Is that you tend not to sleep as much, and when there's as much noise as those planes flying over, and the fighting echoing... well. We were awake anyway, and watching out the windows upstairs- Sometimes the boys find their way to us, sometimes they get sent- but anyhow. One of the big ones looked like it was going to hit the town- woulda been a real shame, nice people there, most of 'em don't deserve to have a bomb dropped in the middle- The Schmidts come to mind. They're always willing to overlook-"

Esther hit him gently with the side of her hand, and gestured to him to continue the story about the plane. Matthew wanted to thank her, but only managed to shoot her a grateful look, and kept his silence, so that Wilhelm could finish telling them what he knew.

"Well, whoever was flying that crate was pretty good- just when it looked like we'd be looking at a smoking crater come morning, he got the nose up, and it glided right over the city- think it took out part of the town hall's clock tower- but it missed the town, and hit the woods."

So Alfred had been saving a village. The connection to his twin had proved true- but that wasn't a comfort to Matthew, considering the rest of the things that he'd been dreaming.

"It didn't take but an hour or so for the damned SS to get on top of it." The old man shook his head, "They used our front fields as a staging ground- so I got a front row seat. Old folks often get overlooked, especially in this day- they weren't paying attention, while I was making like I was gathering firewood- at midnight, no less. They ain't too bright sometimes."

"Did you see any survivors?" France asked, and Canada was glad that he could voice the question. Matthew couldn't.

"I saw a body bag, a stretcher, and someone being hauled over a shoulder. They packed 'em all up in their two trucks. One of the soldiers- think he was a medic- was arguing about how they shouldn't really be moving the one on the stretcher too far- how General Beildschmidt should either stop and let them take care of the man now, or they should have left him at the crash site."

"Beildschmidt-" Matthew felt the frown forming. It had to be a coincidence- It _had_ to.

"He just told his subordinate to work on keeping the man alive, because these were special prisoners that had to be delivered to Berlin- and if he wasn't, there'd be hell to pay. They left after that, driving real slow and careful."

"Francis-" Matthew gave the elder nation a desperate look. "What could he want with Alfred?"

"Mon cher, I-" Francis sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "If you do not know by now what it means to have a Nation as a permanent captive-"

"I'm not stupid, Francis," Matthew's face flushed, "But what will happen to America, now that Alfred is- or if he-"

Captured. Dies. Words too hard to say now, when faced with the reality of the situation.

"As a captive, Germany and his allies may find him to be leverage to force his people to only fight on the Pacific front- or worse, not fight at all. He can be used as a hostage and a proxy." Francis had never had a problem with talking about Nationhood in front of humans, and Matthew saw that it hadn't changed. The two with Francis probably knew anyhow, and the older folks- well, they were in the middle of insane times. "If Ludwig presses, he will become dependent upon his captor, and in danger of being dissolved and absorbed by Germany. It's a slower and somewhat kinder form of death."

"And the other?" The question wasn't from Matthew, but Wilhelm. "What happens to your country, and your people when a nation dies violently like this?"

Matthew totally didn't whimper at the thought. He wasn't fighting tears at the idea of not sharing a continent with his brother-

And that was a complete lie, but he wouldn't admit it to anyone.

"Chaos." France said grimly. "The government begins to slowly dissolve, as the country itself becomes more vulnerable to outside invasion. The people disassociate, and are absorbed into neighboring Nations' populations, or that of whatever Nation manages to invade and hold the country. It's far more difficult and unstable- and there are no guarantees for Germany that he would be the one with the power to hold that much of North America. It would be more likely that Matthieu-"

"I don't want the power. I want my brother." Matthew said, making sure his voice didn't crack by speaking low. "He may be obnoxious, rude, and act like a complete idiot, but he's my idiot, and I don't want to lose him."

A hand grasped his shoulder, and squeezed, Esther's sympathetic face hovered next to his.

"She and I have lost a few friends to this madness that's taken over our home." Wilhelm said quietly, "And we lost our son in the last war. We understand- family. That's why we do what we do."

"Cher Matthieu," Francis said, his eyes looking vaguely sad in the sunlight. "I understand. And despite his faults- their faults- I would not like to see either of them harmed. We will find them."


	11. Chapter 11

Francis walked with Wilhelm through the trail of broken grass and shrubs that led to the smoldering wreck of the plane.

For an old man, he moved fast, France realized, as he was forced to increase his own pace in order to keep up. Perhaps this was why he was capable of surviving so long nearly in the eye of his government. They continually expected him to be a broken and aged man who wouldn't think of doing more than gathering firewood, and watching the sunrises-

It was food for thought.

Jean-Louis remained a few steps behind as he tailed them, keeping watch for the guards that Wilhelm had mentioned were leisurely pretending to guard, but in reality were alternately frightening and flirting with any pretty girl they found in the nearby village.

So like the American soldiers that France had heard stories of from his correspondence with his people. (Though the Americans tended to go heavy on the flirting, not so much on the frightening.)

He wondered, for a moment, how the boy's people were faring- if their Nation's injuries were hindering them in the battles around the world, or if it was the other way around, and their battles were hindering their Nation from healing-

"Here." The old man pushed through to the half burned clearing, and the largest pile of scrap metal that Francis had seen since the bombs had hit a train yard.

Suddenly, he was very glad that he'd made Matthieu stay behind and get some rest before they ventured forward.

If it hadn't been for the half scorched painting on the crumpled nose of the craft, it wouldn't have been obvious that this thing- this pile- had ever been a machine capable of flight.

Slowly, Francis looked around, taking in the details, wondering what sort of clues that he could gather here to verify the captives- to verify the rest of Matthieu's nightmares.

A glance.

The dark hand print on the white bark of one of the untouched trees smeared downwards. Francis quickly strode over to it, comparing his own hand to the gruesome marking.

It was smaller than his own, the correct size to be England's hand.

His foot struck something in the grass, and he bent to find the burned and soiled remains of a black glove. The stitching, he saw, as he lifted it, was England's own work. France remembered that well- the man had a quirk about his uniforms, and fixing the stitching on the gloves so that they wouldn't rub his delicate hands- Francis never thought he'd be glad to remember such a silly little thing.

"England survived." Francis couldn't keep the note of happiness out of his voice- the bloody hand print was worrisome, however. Looking back towards the dulled metal of the aircraft, a glint caught his eye. When he stepped over to investigate, he found something that made a chill run down his spine.

In the mostly dried and darkened patch of earth, lay a pair of bent and cracked glasses.

"Mon dieu..." Francis breathed, as he realized just what the darkened patch was.

"Francis," Jean-Louis called softly, "They are returning."

France snatched the spectacles up, and glanced to Wilhelm.

A sombre face met his look, as they made the now far-too-short trek back to the farmhouse. Francis was not afraid of Mattheiu's reaction, so much as his own, when he faced Ludwig, after they found their missing pair.

"My Nation?" Felice was waiting near the doorway, as they slipped in through the back entrance to the barn. "Did you find anything significant?"

"Where is Canada." France couldn't put this off, no matter how much he wanted to spare the boy- but then, Matthieu would already know more of his brother's injuries than that dried pool could tell him. And England- Arthur- the thought of the petit Nation being just as badly hurt had crossed his mind, and the very idea of his neighbor across the channel dying- leaving one of his short-tempered siblings to annex his country-

Though some got along with France more than others, he would rather deal with the one he knew. The urge to do something, to not stand around and wait-

"He is resting in the parlor, Francis." Felice told him, her eyes wide, as she picked up on his distress. "Esther is preparing for the airmen who may come through, and Matthieu said he'd stay out of the way."

Francis heard nothing more, as he made his way into the small room near the front of the house that had been turned into a makeshift barracks for the four of them, should they need it.

"Francis?" The soft words weren't even loud in the room, as Canada sat up, and waited for his elder to speak.

"Angleterre survived," He said, with a sudden sigh. "I found his hand print, and one of his gloves at the site."

"And Al?" Anxiety coloured the words. "Any sign of him?"

"You were correct, he is injured." The glasses hadn't left his hand since they departed the crash. He silently offered them to Matthieu.

"He's alive," whispered Canada, as he took the bent frames, as though they were a piece of his brother, finger running along the edge of one lens. "I can still feel him."

"You must be prepared, mon cher." France reached out to caress a shoulder, "We Nations gather power, wanted or not. Most want it- and those that do not- I would not want you to be careless through grief."

There was a shine of tears, and a spark in the violet eyes.

"He's not going to die. He can't. We're going to find him." A hitch in the breath, "And then I'm going to yell at him for being a careless idiot."

"Oui, Matthieu." Francis said, trying not to remember the blood-soaked ground, the scorched metal, and the handprint- nor think about their implications. "Oui. It is as you say."


	12. Chapter 12

9:00 AM: Near Kassel, Germany

The morning had dawned while he slept.

The first thing he saw when he finally opened his eyes was an unfamiliar ceiling, dark beams striking against the white plaster that had cracked sometime within the past year or so, as they were so light that they vanished in odd spots, leaving a picture of a unicorn riding a motorcycle, while a bat flew overhead-

Which made him blink for a moment, wondering about his own personal psychology, if that was what his mind was picking out of the mess.

His head felt a bit light, as he tried to lift it to see if there were any more bizarre sights for him to start questioning his own sanity about, but it ached far less than before-

Before what?

Memories started trickling in, as though he were under water. Fire. Pain. Blood. A blond soldier telling him that he was needed alive- and a tiny fairy comforting him in the darkness.

A fairy.

He didn't see the little creature now, and wondered, for a moment, if it had all been one bizzare dream- except... he could feel the bandage wrapped around his head, and around his arm. And if he turned his head to the right, he could just see the sleeping profile of-

Fuck. The pilot- what was his name again- why was it eluding-

His unbandaged arm grasped at his own neck, yanking out the slivers of metal with his own name engraved. In the bare dim light that was allowed to leak into the room, he read it again. Arthur Kirkland. London, England, UK.

_My name is Arthur,_ he reminded himself, fighting the lesser nausea that was creeping into his gut, _The pilot's name was Alfred. Why can't I keep that in my head? I remembered it yesterday-_

His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, pushing through the sick swimming feeling. Alfred. The pilot. He had been dying- Arthur sat up in the chair, noticing the closed door, the lack of guards- and the prone figure in the middle of the room's only bed.

Had the transfusion worked? If it hadn't, it was a very sick thing they were doing, making him sleep in the same room with a corpse. Arthur shuddered, the lethargy in his limbs keeping him moving fast, as he stumbled to his feet to see Alfred.

The boy's colour was better- less pale _(But still far too pale for this young man, who spent so much time in the sun working the land, and-_) the bruises were still horrible, the swelling around his face still disfiguring- (Though there was something missing, and Arthur couldn't quite remember-)

Bandages peeking over the edge of the blanket that had been tucked around his body were white- not discoloured with blood. A hitched rise and fall of that same chest told Arthur that the boy was alive. (_Why do I keep referring to him as a boy? He is obviously a grown man- not much younger than I am.)_

"Alfred..." He whispered softly, wondering if the boy- man was unconscious still, and if he should even make a noise and disturb that much needed slumber. Arthur frowned in the silence, and decided not to speak again- not now. Not while the precarious thread of life was still so slender.

Arthur wondered for a moment, if their captors had given the young man any drugs for the pain that those horrific injuries so obviously had inflicted upon him- and decided that they must have, for he was still asleep, and it would be beyond cruel not to.

"Albion," The soft voice whispered into his ear, startling him, and Arthur almost fell when he whipped his head around to see the fairy through a sudden rush of dizziness. "It's all right, Albion. You should probably sit now- they took a lot of your blood for him this morning."

"Did it work? Will he be-"

"He'll be fine." She smiled, as he settled back into the great chair he barely remembered sitting in last night. "Now, while they are busy discussing their plans, we should try and form one of our own."

"Plan for escape?" Arthur gave her a faint nervous smile, "I'm... not certain that we can. Even if he's not in danger anymore, he is still far too weak to move, and I... won't be of any use to either of you, aside from being a wobbly hindrance."

Belle. The fairy's name was Belle.

"Well, there is that, but there is something that I must learn from you, Albion, my love." Belle smiled, but sadly, "Tell me your true names."

"I-" Arthur blinked. "What?"

"Please. It is important. Tell me who you are."

"My name is... Arthur Kirkland. I'm from London."

The tiny hovering figure seemed to shudder, as she dipped in the air, and Arthur reached out to catch her without thinking.

"Oh dear."

"What is it?" Arthur was a bit puzzled and alarmed, as the fairy settled on his hand.

"That's not it at all." She looked as though she were going to cry now, and that bothered him more than anything. The tiny arms threw themselves around his wrist, and hugged him. "My dear Albion, you-"

A soft moan from the bed interrupted Belle- however she didn't look too upset at that interruption- nor at Arthur's sudden and swift change of attention. Blue eyes were at half-mast, as the boy- no, _man_ on the bed looked around desperately for a moment, then settled his gaze on Arthur.

"Engan'-" the word was slurred and twisted, but recognizable to Arthur as 'England' – the same thing the German general had called him yesterday. "You... Okay?"

"I'm fine, Alfred." Arthur moved closer to the bed, and reached out with his free hand to brush fair hair away from the battered face. (They had cleaned him up, while they both slept, he realized.)"Shh. Don't move."

"M'not gonna." The boy murmured, eyes fluttering shut once more. His breathing was still hitched, unsteady- _(The child with familar features lay still in the bed, flushed with fever, and the occasional cough wracking the normally sturdy frame. The boy was so ill- Arthur placed the damp cloth on his forehead, brushing away blond hair that just wouldn't stay neat. He'd come as soon as he realized what was going on- once the small settlements had been devastated by disease and famine, the risk of his boy's death became all too real in his mind. He would do what he could, what he knew had worked before, but knew that only time and Alfred's own strength would have to carry him through-)_

Arthur blinked, shook his head, wincing as a crick in his neck made itself known.

Blue eyes were once again watching him, slightly more alert, as the scene faded away from his mind's eye once again.

What was that?

Memory?

"Eng'an'?"

"Albion?"

"I'm just glad that you're awake-" Arthur said softly, and he was. It meant something- perhaps that death wasn't about to take a friend away. "I was worried."

Still was worried. The fact that the boy was conscious was hopeful and unexpected, but Arthur knew the danger wasn't completely past- not with how pale the unbruised parts of the lad were.

The pitcher of water on the table on the other side of the room beckoned him- his own mouth was dry, and Arthur suspected that the boy might be thirsty as well. One handed, he poured the liquid, taking only a few sips before bringing the cup back to the bedside. He had to prop up Alfred's head- Belle detached herself long enough for that, settling on his shoulder, while the grateful eyes fixated on him once again. Not entirely comfortable with the feeling of déjà vu, he merely cleared his throat, trying to make certain that the liquid didn't spill.

A soft sigh escaped into the air.

"Thanks."

Arthur smiled, and set the glass on the floor, grunting as his ribs protested.

"England..." Eyes fluttered shut, then open again slowly- but all the while, the intense gaze was on him, as it had been after the flailing the evening before. "'m sorry. Didn' mean to...wanna see you get hurt. Shoulda jumped."

"It's... all right, Alfred. You..." Arthur didn't know what to say. He didn't know what happened before yesterday, except for occasional flashes that didn't always make sense, and were drowning in pain and sickness.

"Iggy?" Alfred had a look of concern on his face now, as he attempted to lift one heavily bandaged arm towards Arthur. Flashes of pain erased that expression, and the hand that rose about an inch fell once more. "Ow... hurt-"

"He shouldn't move, Albion, he nearly died several times yesterday. It's the main reason that the two of you aren't in those things, being transported again- the medics persuaded Germany that he couldn't be moved again, or it might be lethal."

"Don't move-" Arthur started to tell Alfred, wondering why the boy was looking so perplexed amidst the obvious pain. The young man was still now, however.

"Who is... she," The words were being forced now, Arthur could hear the strain, "An' why... is she callin' you... Albion?"

"Oh my." said Belle. "This is an unexpected consequence-"

"Belle?" Arthur glanced at the fairy, "I thought you said... I thought only I could see-"

"One of your invisible... friends, old man?" the rasp was obvious now. Arthur had to get the young man to stop talking. "And why... aren't you... yelling- yet..."

"Shut it you idiot." Arthur said crossly, "You'll only hurt more if you keep pushing yourself like this. Be quiet-"

An unexpected glimmer of satisfaction and a faint accompanying smile crossed Alfred's face as he obeyed. (When had he ever been that quick to do what Arthur had asked of him-)

"It seems that your blood is more powerful than I'd expected." Belle smiled, leaving his shoulder to fly over to the prone pilot, wings barely brushing against his cheek for a moment, as she glanced back at Arthur. Alfred was just staring. "He could never see me before."

"So why can he now see you?" Arthur wasn't entirely certain he wanted an answer, but the comforting realization that Belle wasn't actually a figment of his imagination didn't hurt.

"Albion, do you remember what happened last night? You gave him your blood in order to save his life-" Belle trailed off.

"The transfused blood gave him the sight?" Arthur rubbed at the bandage on his temple.

"England?" A puzzled sounding whisper, and Alfred was talking again. He sounded a little stronger, when he wasn't trying to give his words any real volume. What was that odd hope in his eyes? "Why would you save me? I know we're allies right now, and all, but- I thought you hated me."

"The alternative to voluntarily helping you, was to have them strap me down, and take what they wanted." Arthur let the words come out without thinking, "Really, I didn't have a choice."

"Oh." The flash of pain and disappointment had been almost too fast for Arthur to catch, but see them, he had. "Not that it matters. You need me and my boys to finish this war, but Canada probably couldn't deal with the chaos fast enough s-so why wouldn't you. Not like... Yeah. I understand-"

"I- i-it's not like that." Arthur protested uncertainly- his head was beginning to throb again. "I- we're allies, right? But not friends?"

"England..." The injured man's whisper was pained this time, lost, and maybe just a little torn. "How- what are your injuries from the crash?"

Arthur heard Belle suck in a quick breath.

"You almost die, and you're more concerned about- Banged up, cut and bruised, mostly." Arthur frowned, wincing as the stitches pulled. "I think the medic said something about a concussion- which translates to 'I have a literal bloody headache'."

"You're more perceptive than I thought," Belle said thoughtfully, and Arthur found her staring at Alfred, who tried a faint smile, but failed.

"I've known him less time than you, but I've made a habit out of getting rises out of him- makes playing dumb a little easier." Alfred confessed quietly. "It's harder to disappoint him, when his expectations of you are low. And you'll never get me to admit to any of that again."

"You're smarter than you act as well." Belle stroked a hand along the American's forehead- neatly avoiding the worst of the bruising. "You do know Albion might realize that, and ruin your whole act."

"He's usually too busy yelling and picking holes in my ideas to remember." A faint smile curved Alfred's lips upward. "S'better to have him pissed off than all mopey an' weepy about stuff. But this is the drugs talking, y'know, and drugs say some really weird shit."

"I understand now," Belle laughed, and Arthur sighed heavily. "But there are other ways..."

"You've known each other for two minutes, and are already talking like old friends." Arthur observed, trying to keep the resentment out of his own voice. "And I'm confused."

"Not surprising." Alfred sighed, "God, I feel like shit- I was hoping you wouldn't get hurt. You dragged me out, didn't you? It's hard to remember- things were all kinda fuzzy and I was tryin' not to pass out- but I did, and you're hurt, and we're prisoners."

"But I'm not as badly hurt as you are." Arthur felt obligated to point out, "So whatever happened-"

"You have a head injury, England. A bad one if you don't remember how much you hate me, and kinda don't really want my help even though you needed it. You also saved my life twice in the past couple of days, not even remembering-" Alfred sighed, as he obviously noticed Arthur's flinch at the use of the country name. "Arthur..."

"Yes?"

"We need to escape, and soon."

"No shit." Arthur grumbled, "That general is making me nervous- but you're injured, and I don't know my way around. Most likely we'll be heading to Berlin tomorrow, and I get the impression that we'll be more heavily guarded there."

"General?"

"Germany, America." Belle said softly, "He was apparently in the area when the two of you went down."

Alfred turned white beneath the bruises.

"Shit- ah... Belle? May I call you that?"

"You do have manners," Belle said, with a faint laugh, "Yes. You may use my name, young America."

"Call me Al, it's easier." Alfred didn't look much better than he had a moment ago, and it was starting to worry Arthur. "Belle, can you help guide England to safety?"

"I can." Belle answered, "I'm certain that there are other fae in the area that would be willing to help."

"When you get the opportunity... get him home. Don't let Germany take him to Berlin."

"Wait." Arthur protested, "And what about you?"

"Eng—Arthur," Alfred said, sounding more tired by the word, "I can't— I don't think I'm going to be able to move. I'd only slow you down. If you get to safety, there'll be a better chance for the allies to win this- They don't intend to kill me outright - I won't break under questioning, and it's more likely that he'll want to keep me alive for leverage or something. I won't give up- too stubborn. You'll have to be the hero this time. I-If I die... well. You've got Mattie on your side already. Just don't let him wallow in misery for too long."

"America!"

"Alfred!"

Both Arthur and Belle spoke at the same time

"I'm not leaving without you, Alfred. I don't care if we hated each other in the past- you're all I know, and I don't-" Arthur inwardly reeled at the very idea of allowing himself to be led to safety like a child, while this young man was forced to bear up against what he instinctively knew would be harsh (to put it mildly) torture, before they could get help to find him again.

Let alone the possibility that this bright young man had already accepted the idea of his own death, when he should be-

"I don't hate you." Alfred said softly, tiredly. "Never have. Just..."

He trailed off, blue eyes closing slowly.

Arthur frowned and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out hesitantly to smooth the wildness of amber-gold hair. A feeling of familiarity at the action gave him a little more confidence, as did the trembling curve of Alfred's lips.

"I'm not about to leave you alone in enemy hands, Alfred-" Arthur said with a calmness that he knew was probably from his ignorance. This boy was a man, and a soldier. "I think, even if I remembered everything, I would still feel that way. There's been something about you that pulls at me since I first woke up on that plane. I don't think I could forgive myself if I left you to suffer on your own again."

Again?

Lashes flickered open partway, so that exhausted eyes could study his face.

"You had your reasons last time, and I- don't blame you anymore." The sigh came, ever so faintly, subtle, like the glimmer that now rolled down the sides of Alfred's face.. "I lived through it. I'll live through this too- but I'm so tired, Iggy, it hurts to even think right now..."

"Sleep for a bit, then." Arthur said, not stopping with the soothing motion of his hand against soft hair. "Let your body heal. You've been tiring yourself out with all this talking and planning. Belle and I will see what we can come up with for ideas while you work on feeling better, all right?"

Mmn." The sound came softly, a mere hum as the eyes slid closed, and the soft rasp of breathing steadily became more regular.

"He's a strong nation, Albion, don't fret so much." Belle perched on his shoulder once more, "He's always been stubborn, and strong. I don't think that will change."

"You know me, Belle." Arthur sighed heavily, wondering if he should even ask. "Do I really hate him?"

"You act prickly towards almost everyone," Belle said softly, wings tickling his ear. "More so towards him- though he does seem to provoke you into it. Which if what he said was correct, is deliberate-"

"But do I hate him?"

"No, Albion. He broke your heart, but you don't hate him."


	13. Chapter 13

Noon: Haltern, Germany

The first airman arrived half an hour after Francis had returned.

Esther and Wilhelm welcomed him- careful to make certain that the man's tracks had been erased, so that they and their home would continue to be available as a way-station for the lost souls that found themselves in need. Canada had volunteered to aid the old man in his chores, only to be shooed off to sit with the other 'guest'.

Airman Robert Johnson had been one of the radar techs on America's plane.

"Haven't heard from any of the others yet- so I don't know who made it. We're going to meet up at a bar- pub, when we get back to ol' blighty." Johnson sighed as Matthew helped him re-wrap one of his bandages. It had been a rough landing for the young man, who looked about his brother's physical age. "Hope Captain Jones and his Brit are okay. You look a lot like him- the Captain, I mean."

"I-" Matthew frowned, "I do?"

"Yeah. At first glance, I thought- well. I hoped it was him, but you're not. Your hair is different, your eyes are different- and you completely don't hold yourself in near the same way."

"You're very observant," Matthew smiled, for the first time since he'd been given his brother's glasses- which were kept neatly in his breast pocket, out of sight. "Most people just go with that first thought, and mistake me for Al."

"You don't even talk like him." The human laughed, "People can be dumb. You do know him, then?"

"You might say that. He's my brother."

"Oh! So you're Mattie!" Johnson grinned brightly, "He talks about you- what a great brother he has, and some of the games you've played-"

"He has?" Matthew blinked, "I thought he forgot about me most of the time."

"Nah. Says you're really quiet, so it's easy to get distracted, and not remember that you're in the room sometimes, but times you spent together- makes me I wish _I _ had a brother instead of three sisters."

The younger man blinked sleepily, as Matthew finished bandaging the smaller cuts and scrapes.

"You should rest while you can. You've got a long journey ahead of you."  
"Not as long as yours, Mattie." Johnson yawned. "S'ok if I call you that, right? If you leave before I wake, I just wanna say- good luck, God bless, and I hope you get home safe and sound."

"Thank you, Rob." Matthew tossed a blanket over the tired soldier. "And to you as well."

"Was good to meet you. Glad to see you were as nice as he said."

The words gave Matthew that warm feeling in his chest. For all the yelling, arguing, fighting- and downright mean words between them at times, Alfred still cared enough that his people thought kindly of Canada. He exited the room in order to give the American soldier some peace and quiet, as this would probably be the last time he had any until he hit London again.

"Canada," Felice's alto voice called to him softly from the kitchen. "I've gotten a few leads on which way they took the prisoners from here. Have you seen France?"

"Not recently- I've been tending to Airman Johnson."

"Ahh," Felice sighed, "He probably went to the town with Jean-Louis then. I hope he remembers to keep his hands to himself."

"So do I." Matthew shivered, "I'd hate to have to rescue him as well as America and England. Is there any new information? What kind of guard they have, where they're heading?"

"I'm not finding anything on Beildschmidt himself- no one seems to have heard of him."

"If he is who I think he is, it's not surprising," Matthew answered with a faint sigh, "You'd get the same response from my government if you asked about me. Beildschmidt is most likely Germany."

"Germany himself? "

Matthew nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. Picking up some of Al's habits now- or had Al picked that one up from him? It was hard to remember sometimes.

"What about your- sense?" Felice seemed a bit hesitant, yet curious. "Can you tell?"

"As far as I can tell, he's somewhere to the southeast," Matthew sighed, touching on that faint link to his brother, "Still alive- for now, thank goodness. I'd rather have confirmation of their destination- it makes it easier to not be suddenly surprised at a change of direction."

"Do you really think he-" Felice cut herself off with a faint coloring of fair skin. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask, It's not appropriate or helpful."

"I haven't been asleep since late last night, and nothing new has happened to him, so I really can't say if he's-" Matthew sighed, "I can tell he's still hurting. It leaks over without him realizing it. I've done the same—I just can't figure out how bad, unless I pursue it actively, or someone says something while we're in contact. And we don't always connect during sleep like yesterday."

"You should probably try and get some rest before we start moving late this afternoon." Felice told him, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder. "I have a contact bringing some forged papers and supplies to a rendez-vous point, that will take us further inside this country. All the way to Berlin, should we need to go there."

"I hope that won't be necessary." Matthew couldn't help but shiver again at the idea of being within the heart of the enemy's territory. "I mean, it's Germany's heart- he is well guarded there, and his boss-"

"I understand." Felice said, "We all take risks with our lives merely by doing. By going all the way to Berlin, we risk everything by _being_."

Matthew smiled faintly.

"Go nap for now. We will wake you when it is time to get ready. Perhaps your brother is sleeping as well, and you will share a lovely dream about home."

With a faint laugh, Matthew moved back to the quiet parlor, hoping that Felice's wish would become a reality for him, but knowing it would be more likely that he would get caught in the same pattern of pain and violence that had marked all of his drowsing moments lately.


	14. Chapter 14

Germans were so predictable.

Francis walked down the uncrowded streets, not even pausing at the ration-lines, intent on seeing just what had happened to the town hall's tower. Where there was a disaster, often times there were people who could be counted upon to gossip. Train-wreck syndrome, America had called it. An impossible to resist, but horrible event that called attention to itself, and spread its own news like wildfire.

He was correct, of course.

Well, more accurately, both of them were correct.

A group of citizens had gathered at the site of the damaged architecture, some looking up at the hole the wing of the airplane had created, others gathering pieces of brick and metal that littered the street beside the building. And still others chatted with a pair of young men dressed in something that almost resembled a uniform. Francis sidled closer to listen to their conversation, nodding at the appropriate times. Frowning when it seemed the correct response.

Only one person had been injured by falling debris, it seemed- a night watchman had been clobbered by a piece of the tower, however he was said to be doing well, and would be expected to make a full recovery.

America would probably be pleased by that.

"Don't know why they're being taken to Berlin, of all places," One of the uniformed men said, "Pilots and crew are supposed to be taken to the prisoner of war camps. That blond general seemed a little too young to have that much authority, however when we called it in they said to obey him in anything he asked. Top secret- but no one will see them again, I think."

Not if Francis had anything to do with it.

Jean-Louis had taken a different tack, and was flirting with one of the town's lovely young ladies who was- Francis believed- selling something. Flowers, perhaps. Money for a basket, and France's young agent was wandering away- back towards the town's only church. A cue for Francis to subtly find his way to the edge of the buildings, so they could meet up, and head back to Wilhelm's farm.

"We have papers." Jean-Louis said, without looking at Francis, once they met up. Just out of sight of most of the town, and on the twisting path through the light forest towards their destination. "But do we really need to go all the way to Berlin?"

"If necessary, mon frere." Muttered Francis. "It makes me as uncomfortable to be here as it does you- perhaps a little more so, but we cannot allow Germany to keep that pair- if they were whole and healthy, I would not be as concerned. Between Alfred's strength, and Arthur's sheer determination, they would be drinking with us in Lille by now."

"Once we get to them, how are we going to get them back- if the American has been as badly injured as you and Monsieur Canada seem to believe, it will be difficult to move him."

"Our kind is a bit more hardy than most. If Ludwig has done what Wilhelm overheard, there is a chance that he will be stable, and perhaps able to be carried partway- if the stubborn ass will allow someone else to help him for a change- And if Arthur is in any shape to aid, he will be as a lioness and her cub."

"They are much alike, those two." Jean-Louis observed. "With their inability to accept aid and dislike of failing. So we prepare for an unwilling patient and a hot-tempered guardian."

"Oui." Francis confirmed, ducking under a branch, and trying very hard not to look towards the place that he knew the wreckage of the airplane lay. "We will most likely need a larger vehicle. Matthieu knows enough medicine that we do not need to add another to our already large group."

"There are no large vehicles here. They have all been taken for use by the military." Jean-Louis murmured, "We may need to steal one, once we get closer."

"Mais oui." Francis felt a tight little smile cross his face, "But I would not call it stealing. Germany owes us much for the things he has done already- we can call it a fraction of a partial payment."

The rest of the walk was uneventful- despite the several times that the pair had had to pause, and make certain that no one followed them. The soft footsteps that had seemed to come from a direction that those watching the wreck used had merely been that of a small bear- who blinked at them sleepily, and went back to rooting around under the trees.

The rustling in the underbrush had merely been a pair of rabbits, pink and black noses twitching in the air as they watched Francis and Jean-Louis pass.

Francis wondered, for a moment, if these petits lapins would have merely watched, had Alfred been with them. He'd often noticed that the small creatures would bounce right on over to the large Nation, and rub up against his legs- just like a cat. He hoped he would see them do so again.

"Matthieu is sleeping, My Nation," Felice greeted them just behind the most secret entrance to the farmhouse. "There are men from America's flight appearing- we should make preparations to go before curfew. Did you receive the papers?"

"Oui." said Jean-Louis, "And more- we have a final destination."

"Let Matthieu sleep for now," Francis said grimly, "If he is sleeping peacefully, without dreams, he need not be worried just yet."


	15. Chapter 15

3:00 PM, Near Kassel, Germany

Arthur woke from a light doze, hearing the soft click of the door being unlocked.

Most of the morning and afternoon had been spent thus- half dozing, starting at every sound. Head cradled in his arms on the bed, while the rest of him was precariously balanced on the chair so as not to disturb Alfred.

He didn't think the young man had stirred since their conversation.

Belle had departed soon after Alfred fell asleep, in order to find more Fae, who might be able to aid them. She and he had been in total agreement on the subject (Although for different reasons that she hadn't explained to him)- they both had to escape. And the more help that they had, the better their chances. Arthur didn't know who to trust, Alfred wasn't going to be able to help, and Belle- well. The Fae didn't quite see the world in the same way, and she was nowhere near large enough to help Arthur carry Alfred (Or 'America', as she had called him earlier.)

After a day alone, or mostly alone, however, someone was entering the sickroom. It made Arthur automatically bristle into full alertness, standing on wobbly feet as he tried staying between the door and the helpless pilot. Whomever would do them harm would see him first, and leave the boy alone.

It was no surprise to find General Beildschmidt stepping cautiously into the room. What was surprising was the way he seemed to be expecting Arthur to attack him on sight- or try to slip out the door. The guard from the truck was standing across from the now open door, watching with an alertness and curiosity that seemed unprecedented.

Arthur glared at his opponent, while the General himself merely stared down at him, a slight tic making his left eye twitch.

"It's rude to come in without knocking." Arthur said at last, to break the uncomfortable silence.

"I apologize." Beildschmidt smiled faintly. "I did not realize that prisoners were entitled to that right."

A sidelong glance at the mirror that had startled him so last night told him that he looked even more disheveled and pale. Between his appearance and his height, he was hardly one to intimidate anyone- let alone the larger German. Fuck. Why did he feel as though he should be more-

"What do you want?" Arthur said flatly, trying to ignore the bone-deep hostility and weariness. If he smart-mouthed too much, he might find himself in chains or worse.

"I want many things," the blond said, shutting the door behind him. "Revenge, power, freedom from the things that keep me chained."

"Chained? You're the jailer here, not I." Arthur kept himself still. "Are you going to ransom us to our homes, or question us on things that we cannot reveal."

The same puzzled frown.

"I thought to question you, however I can see that would be a waste of my time."

"Very astute." Arthur couldn't find the energy to keep the scowling up, and let it go for a more neutral frown. "Neither of us are about to betray our countries."

That brought a raised eyebrow, and the faint smile returned.

"You don't even remember, and yet you retain your hostility towards me. Very interesting, England. I understand you will not be of strategic use to me- at least not in a conventional sense." Beildschmidt crossed the room in a few strides to stand on the opposite side of the bed, studying the unconscious man. "I wonder if America has the same problem."

"Don't you fucking touch him." Arthur snarled before he could stop himself. "If you hurt him any more, I will tear you apart, you bastard."

"You are hardly in a position to tell me what to do or not to do, England." The gloved hand reached down to brush against the soft amber-gold hair, as though Alfred were his own child, and this was the most natural thing-

Arthur launched himself at the taller man with a stream of invectives that, had he stopped to think about them, would have made him blush.

"Now now, _Arthur_." The hand at his throat stopped him from being able to actually follow through with the swing of a fist. "You wouldn't want my hand to slip, now would you?"

The other hand was poised above Alfred's chest, rising and falling in its unsteady rhythm.

If the general pressed down, he would be hitting the major wound that his people had worked so hard to close- he would risk starting the bleeding all over again, and risk-

"You wouldn't." Arthur said, feeling the energy drain right out of his body once more, even while the bruising fingers kept their grip on his neck. "You needed us both alive-"

"Alive, yes. Healthy, not so much." The hand rested lightly on Alfred's chest, threateningly. "He is not in immediate danger of dying. Our kind are much more hardy than that- and this day his energy has been spent in healing. He will not die of this- he might wish it, however."

"Bastard." Arthur spat breathlessly. Our kind? What was that supposed to mean?

"I can see the confusion in your eyes, _Arthur_." Such a peculiar emphasis on his given name- as though it were supposed to be insulting somehow. "Do you not even understand the position you are in- or have you forgotten something more important?"

"All I need to know is that you are a sadistic monster, who needs to be locked away." Arthur said, expecting the hand to cut off his wind, or to harm his – friend- or not friend. He knew deep down that he very much wanted something more, even if it was oh so wrong-

Beildschmidt released him instead.

"Perhaps it is you who is the monster," he suggested, with a gleam of madness in his eyes. "You and your Allies trying to destroy me, when I'm just attempting to regain what is rightfully mine-"

"You're deluded." Arthur reached for the hand on his neck, not really thinking about where his knowledge was coming from. "England has passed the stage where it would attempt to conquer an entire fucking continent for giggles- and considering that America was founded upon liberty and equality, I sincerely doubt that they would join the country that they fought so voraciously to be separated from to put someone else in that same damn position."

Arthur knew that he'd said something wrong the moment General Beildschmidt's eyes lit up.

"You don't know who you are." he said with a smile that made the temperature in the room drop. "You have no idea."

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," Arthur said immediately, "And you will get no other information than my name from me."

"Oh England." Beildschmidt was now laughing, as that threatening hand was removed from Alfred to touch at the forgotten bandage at Arthur's temple. "You are such an amusing old man. You didn't walk away from that battle unscathed, did you?"

"I..." Arthur frowned, "I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with-"

"England without his memories, America without his strength. What effect will this have on your nations? This war is as good as won." The near grin was maniacal. "France has nearly collapsed- the coward- and the rest will fall like dominoes."

The door had opened and closed while Arthur's back was to it. Now, however, out of the corner of his eye, he could see the medic- Alfons- setting a black bag down on the chair that had served as Arthur's bed. A syringe and a bottle were pulled out, slowly, as the medic gave Beildschmidt a sidelong glance.

"Wait- what are you-"

"If you are certain, General." Alfons ignored Arthur. "I do not wish to be held responsible if he dies."

"I am," The grin had faded to a grim smile, "This is why I agreed so easily to another day's rest for him, Hauptman. His wounds will heal fairly swiftly- and I don't believe there are enough chains in Europe to hold him down, if he were at full strength."

The hand at Arthur's throat tightened as he attempted to move, the instinct to fight, to throw the medic away from Alfred before that needle was used trying to override his need for oxygen.

Alfred did not even rouse before the contents of the medic's syringe were emptied into his veins.

"Damn you-" Arthur felt the tears welling up. "What did you do to him?"

"Digitalis." Alfons answered at a nod from Beildschmidt. He packed his kit, and walked calmly to the door. "A carefully calculated overdose that will keep him from becoming a problem, if General Beildschmidt is correct about his physical capabilities. If not, he will be dead."

Arthur was tossed into the chair once more, as the general followed.

"You might wish to monitor his heart rate. It has been known to act differently for individuals. Do let us know if his heart stops again." General Beildschmidt gave the pair a cold look, "I would not wish to see him die without completing the proper preparations. We leave tomorrow morning."

The door was locked behind them, leaving Arthur alone with the unconscious man.


	16. Chapter 16

Haltern: 3:30 PM

The short set of dreams that had been afforded to Canada during the undisturbed nap had been restful. Bunnies and bears, and flowers dancing in the old meadows of their home, with Arthur and Francis both looking on and laughing- as though none of the fighting had ever occured.

The bunnies gave him the real clue as to the nature of the dreams. They were not entirely his own- as had been common when they were still small- but shared dreams with his twin. Alfred was sleeping peacefully, without the dreams of the wreck, or the pain, or whatever had been happening during his (short) wakeful hours. Or minutes.

Matthew found Francis in the barn, aiding Jean-Louis with the alteration of their little vehicle. The rust that had covered it was now sanded away, and darkened with ancient oil. It looked, he realized, like a new machine, fit for the German officers that they were about to impersonate, as they travelled to the places that would lead them to his brother and friend.

"Ah, Matthieu!" Francis had seen him, and hitched himself up to limp over to the doorway. "We are almost ready to leave. I hope you rested well."

"Oui, Francis." Matthew almost smiled. "I was dreaming of peaceful things- just like old times."

"Les Lapins, et les ours-" Francis smiled, "So he is asleep naturally, and in no danger."

"I think the danger is still there, but yes, he is sleeping, and healing- whatever one says about Ludwig, he does remember to follow the rules. The Geneva Conventions have saved more than one life- and now a few more."

"So we may find an America able to move on his own." France nodded at Jean-Louis. "Felice has your uniform, unfashionable thing that it is, and then we will be prepared."

"All right," Matthew started to say, then the world turned upside-down, and inside out. His heart raced, then stilled, as something crawled through his veins, burning a path-

"Matthieu!" He heard France call through the fog, "Canada- mon cher, what is wrong?"

"What the hell..." He heard himself say through the echoing pain, "What the hell are they doing to him?"

"Matthieu-" He could feel Francis leading him somewhere-to a seat of some sort. He could feel the worn leather underneath him, old springs that threatened to poke through. The car. But he could also feel the comfort of a worn mattress, and the heaviness of a coverlet of some sort weighing him down as the peculiar burning pain coursed through his body- Alfred.

"So much for Geneva." Matthew muttered, "Sorry, Al, I have to -"

He had to close the door between them, and with an effort, he pushed against the shared sensation, closing the gap, until with a final gasp, he felt his heartrate slow to a normal pace. Things were still trickling through the cracks, but for now- he could ignore them.

"What happened, Matthieu?" Francis was stroking his hair, holding him steady. "You nearly fainted?"

"They did something new to Al- Made him worse somehow. Our connection was wide open because of the dreaming, but I had to shut it before he dragged me with him. I'd be of no use to anyone like that."

"Are you certain it was something that they did to him?" Francis was sounding a bit odd, as though he weren't quite certain whether or not to believe it. "Could it have been something else?"

"Only if that something else can be brought about by a needle prick and flow through one's body like fire." Matthew set his jaw firmly. "They gave him something- maybe to keep him from healing at a normal pace. Something to keep him under control. I doubt Germany wants to deal with Al if he's at full strength and loose within his heart."

"Ah, Ludwig, how low you have stooped," Francis sighed. "What were you talking about- shutting the door?"

"The connection between me and Al is sort of like a swinging door- opens either way, and is impossible to completely lock. Our boarders are open to one another, our people mingle freely- " Matthew explained, "In order for us to be completely separated, we'd have to wall ourselves off, and that's pretty close to impossible."

"And shutting that swinging door?"

"I can block it, there's still a little leaking through- but it's not enough to cripple me- it does, however, present us with a problem."

"And that would be?"

"It's also not enough for me to feel out where he is." Matthew frowned at France's concern. "You got a location, we'll just have to hope that he's recovered enough by the time we get there so I can pinpoint him. I can't sleep until we do though."

"Why not?"

"Because I have to consciously shut him out when things like this happen. He's not very good at controlling it on his end, and if he's as bad off as I think he is-"

"Will you be all right?"  
"I've gone longer periods without sleeping, Francis, I'll be fine."

The noise of someone clearing their throat came from behind them, and both jumped, turning to see a young man in a German adjunct's uniform. It took Matthew a moment to recognize Felice.

"If we're to get there tonight, we have to leave soon. Your uniform is ready for you, Canada."

Matthew made a face, and stood.

"Thank you, Felice." Francis said. "Gather Jean-Louis- we will be leaving as soon as Mattheiu changes. Our regards to the lady and gentleman of the house, of course-"

"They're used to the comings and goings, and would rather not know when we leave, or where, so they can honestly tell anyone who asks that they haven't a clue."

"Ah. Allons-y, Matthieu," Francis said, but Matthew was already halfway into the small room to change into his disguise. Time was precious, and running out. He didn't want to waste any more of it than was necessary.


	17. Chapter 17

6:00 PM Zierenberg, Germany

Checkpoints flew by far too swiftly to count, and the papers that had been obtained in Haltern smoothed the way for the quartet.

The bribe money that Jean-Louis had somehow obtained didn't hurt either.

France was not about to ask where and how the young man got such things, he knew the boy would only shrug, and smile a little self-depreciating smile and say 'Does it matter, so long as we are freed from the German oppression?'

For truely, France did not care, so long as Germany was repelled. He was tired of the aches and pains of the invasion, tired of finding new bruises and scrapes every day. And exhausted- his people were worn thin, and so was he.

Matthieu was half dozing on the seat next to him, carefully avoiding sleep- though he must be exhausted himself, even if his people were strong and still fighting, the physical form of their country's spirit had been on the go since probably early yesterday morning. France might envy the ability of the pair to be so close, however the drawbacks only brought pity from the older nation.

Zierenberg's first checkpoint was standard- papers checked, and they were waved through. The second, however-

The papers were held, and France could hear the guards say 'Nein', gesturing for Felice to drive their petite voiture over to the side.

"Problem?" Francis asked quietly, noting Matthieu's sudden alertness.

"Mild." Felice returned, without moving, "The local constable wishes to confirm our papers before we move out."

"Fuck." Matthieu said quietly, "As long as they don't look too closely, we're fine. If they radio things in, we're screwed."

"Relax, mon cher," Francis said tightly, "If you panic, they'll look even more closely."

"Oui." Felice said quietly, "The faster we see their head man, the faster we can convince him of the urgency of our deployment to Berlin, and we can be on our way."

"I understand," Matthieu rubbed a hand against his eyes, "It's just-"

"Patience," France nodded towards the window. "They're on the way with their man. We should get out and make the appropriate gestures, oui?"

France exited the little car with trepidation, despite his brave words to Canada, he was a bit unnerved by the sudden demand. The salute was easy enough to imitate, despite the bile that nearly rose at the action. The words however-

Jean-Louis took over with an ease that Francis could never have managed on his own.

"Mein Herr," He saluted the man, speaking in an unaccented German- well, to Francis it sounded unaccented, because his own mastery of the language was fairly rudimentary. He could barely understand the conversation. "If our papers are in order, we must depart. Our business is in Berlin, and the second in command of the Reich has demanded that we meet with him there without delay-"

"Nein," The bergermeister said still smiling, "There is no trouble with your papers, however the hour is one that demands the courtesy of a meal. We have a bit to offer, better than the simple fare that you would encounter upon the road. Please, speak kindly of us when you arrive, but first-"

France tried not to look desperate when Jean-Louis appeared to agree to the man's request- or demand, more like-

"It would be foolish of us to refuse," Matthieu suddenly said. Was everyone else fluent in this growling gutteral language? "However, I am a bit ill from a fever that was quite rampant among the front lines. I must decline, as I am rather nauseous. The others might wish to take you up on the offer-"

"Illness?" The man frowned, "That is not... That is to say..."

"Only a mild one, however it does hang on for a week or so." Matthieu managed to look faintly ill. "I only hope that being in such close quarters with my comerades has not spread it to them."

"Ah..." The man said, "Perhaps I could offer you provisions, for when you are back to good health?"

"If you wish," Matthieu smiled faintly, "But my true desire is to sleep in my own bed in Berlin this evening."

"I appologize, mein herr, Perhaps it was a bit hasty for me to request-"

"Nein, it was a kindness that will be remembered. If we could be cleared to leave?"

"Of course!" The man, who had begun to keep his distance as soon as Matthieu mentioned ilness, backed a bit further away, "I shall drink to your good health tonight."

"Thank you, mein herr," Jean-Louis gave the man a salute, and opened the door for Francis and Matthieu. They were on their way within a few more minutes, and after enduring a few more nervous looks from the same man.

"That was..." Francis murmured, as they rolled away, passing the last checkpoint to get out of the city.

"True." Matthieu completed the sentance. "There is illness at the front lines, as always, and I am not feeling my best."

Francis gave him a quick look, and noted the pale skin, and faint coat of sweat on the blond boy's brow.

"Is it bad?" he asked, finally. Felice glanced back at them with a concerned gaze.

"Managable." Matthieu answered, "I think he's sleeping, and it should be safe-"

"Then try to sleep. I will awaken you when we get close to Kassel."

Matthieu nodded, and leaned against Francis' shoulder once more, swiftly slipping into a deep sleep.

"Rest, mon petit chou." Francis patted the blond mop, "For we have much to do this night."


	18. Chapter 18

7:00 PM Kassel, Germany

Hours passed, and Arthur was left alone with his thoughts, and a man who could have been dead for all he moved most of the time. A few panicked moments left him checking for the young man's pulse.

Alfred's wrists were bruised- one arm bandaged from palm to elbow- and Arthur was forced to use the pulse point on the throat that was pale beneath the golden tan.

He dozed that way, briefly, one hand against the other's neck, feeling for that thready, unsteady beat that meant that he was not alone. For some reason, the feel of the curve of Alfred's neck on his hands was familiar.

Belle had said something about Alfred having broken his heart, and Arthur had to pause and wonder- had they been close? Intimate?

A short span of minutes at the mirror made Arthur dismiss that idea out of hand.

The pale and far too slender figure that faced him was not, from what he could see, very attractive beyond being pale and slender. Almost scrawny. His eyes were far too large for his face, and the eyebrows...

No.

Alfred, despite the bruises, scrapes, and swelling was quite attractive- for a man. There was really no way that someone who was that vibrant and attractive would ever be partnered with one such as he-

And Alfred had expected Arthur to start yelling at him.

What sort of a relationship had they had, where Alfred expected scorn from him, while simultaneously not wishing to displease- no, that wasn't the word- disappoint? Getting a 'rise' out of someone was hardly lover- like behavior. But if it had been the past...

No. No. No.

That seemed wrong as well.

Arthur watched his eyebrows tug into each other as he scowled, deep in thought. The slight tug from the stitches made him loosen the expression almost immediately, however the thoughts remained. He had to think- to push past the nausea that was bubbling in his head and stomach even now.

Where had he met Alfred?

_(The grassy fields were spectacularly golden and lively as the wind blew through them. So very different from his land- so very free. _

_ The small face with lonely blue eyes looked up at him as he smiled upon the toddler. So innocent, and beautiful, and-_

_ "I'm glad you came..."_

_ "You aren't going to run away from me, are you?" Arthur tried to hope. The child was adorable- he just wanted... wanted..._

_ "I've learned a lot about myself lately."_

_ "I'm going to be your big brother." Arthur found himself saying, as he'd wanted to since he first saw the child. _

_ "So should I call you my beloved brother?" The blue eyes were full of hope, and longing, but Arthur wasn't seeing that- instead-_

_ He saw the ones who would make him call them brother, as they beat him mercilessly, as they forced him to submit-_

_ "No..." Arthur couldn't quite shake the sudden fear and apprehension that chilled him to the bone."No... call me England. That's enough for me-"_

_ The disappointment only lasted for a moment before the child's face lit up in a sunshine filled smile._

_ "Okay, Ing-lan-" there was a slight hitch as the boy tried again, "Enl- Iggy!"_

_ Arthur didn't quite notice it, but the loneliness hadn't left the summer- sky blue eyes._

_"Well, that's close enough, I suppose.")_

The floorboards were an inch from Arthur's nose, and the pain in his head made him wonder if he'd struck it against the wood- but the nausea-

"Oh fuck." He mumbled around the feeling of his insides wanting to be outside. But he remembered something. "Damn, and hell."

"I-Ig-" A soft whisper from above. "Are you-"

Arthur climbed up from where he'd been curled in on himself, leaning heavily on the wood of the footboard. Alfred- Damn it, he was supposed to be watching-

Summer- sky blue eyes were hazy as they searched the room, and finally landed on him. The loneliness of that remembered child was still there, but it relaxed as his shape was registered. The child- had been Alfred?

"Don't move too much, Alfred," Arthur found his way around the side, sitting carefully next to the man. His hand found the pulse point at the neck again. "They gave you something that is sapping your strength."

"Jus' like... old times," Alfred murmured. "You... taking care... of me. Instead... of wanting to kill me."

"Save your breath, you're still wounded." Arthur frowned. Taking care of him- being his big brother. That explained some of it- the familiarity with tending to the younger man- but not the fact that they looked to be only a handful of years apart. "We've got to get out of this place, before you finish up dead."

"Cheerful... as always." Alfred gave him a faint smile. Arthur could see how much effort that gesture was taking. "Should go... without me."

"Nonsense. I won't be leaving you behind."

The dazed eyes did the smiling, even as the face relaxed to a somewhat surprisingly happy expression.

"I'll find a way, Alfred. And then you can explain things to me."

The slight frown crossed the face, and was gone.

"Don't you dare worry about me, when you're the one who is wounded so severely. Not when they're drugging you to keep you from striking back." Arthur reached out to smooth down that lock of hair that was sticking out from the rest of the unruly mop. It merely bounced back once again. "When Belle returns..."

"Mmn." Alfred said coherently. Arthur paused to watch the twinges of sadness crossing the pain filled- and painful looking- face. "Maybe.. she'll know."

"Maybe." Arthur sighed, and stroked the blond hair again, for lack of any other way to soothe the young man. It wasn't working very well, if the mixed contentment and sadness in those eyes were any indication. How badly had they hurt one another to provoke that reaction from Alfred? The fingers returned to monitoring the younger's heart. "It has to be soon- before they move us to a place with more security."

The pulse fluttered a bit under Arthur's fingers, then steadied, albeit a bit slower than it had been before.

"Hate... being helpless." The eyes were fluttering shut again, even if the mouth wasn't. This was, Arthur realized, not unusual for Alfred. Even if he couldn't remember what had happened, this inability to stay silent seemed so natural that he wasn't questioning it. "Missed..."

Before he could finish, Alfred's eyes, probably feeling far too heavy to remain open, closed, and the slightly hitched breathing evened out a bit. Not that Arthur could fault him for dropping back into slumber, with all the injury and insult that his body had been subjected to within the past twenty four hours, but he could only sigh heavily, and wish that the boy would at least finish his sentences, and not leave the person he was talking to hanging. (Metaphorically speaking, of course, he'd seen enough hangings to never want to -)

"Blast." The dizziness almost made him want to curl up next to the wounded man, and never move again. "Where are you, Belle, I need to-"

"Right here, Albion." And there she was, indeed. The fairy was watching him from atop the bedpost, legs crossed. leaning forward and capturing her tiny chin in her hand. "I didn't want to interrupt such a touching moment."

"Fuck you-" The irritation made him want to yell, but he couldn't quite bring himself to possibly disturb Alfred.

"You're too big for me, Albion, and not my species." An impish smile graced her face.

Arthur blinked for a moment, and just as fast as it had arrived, the irritation left, leaving him near laughing. And feeling a deep heat splashing his face and ears. He was quite certain that if he looked into the mirror right now, he would be as red as... well... a tomato.

"There's the Albion we all know and love," Belle giggled, "Have you remembered anything useful yet?"

"No." Arthur was forced to admit, the urge to titter leaving along with the blush that the Fairy had induced with her sudden lewdness. "Just- a small thing- and it nearly knocked me out."

"What was it?" The small creature asked with a toss of a tiny ebony head. "Even small things can be important- I'm important, after all."

"You are indeed, my dear." Arthur smiled, watching her translucent wings flutter, "I remembered meeting Alfred for the first time, only ..."

"And you said it wasn't important or useful, Albion." The fairy stood, brushed off her leaf-coloured dress, and stepped out into the air, moving down towards Alfred's head.

"I never said it wasn't important- just not useful." Arthur retorted, again touching fingers to the soft skin of Alfred's throat. "What would be useful would be a way to counteract poisons, or to heal- he's going to finish up dead if we stay here, and I don't- I don't want to see that happen."

"Poisons? What happened while I was gone, Albion?" Belle touched the mottled skin of Alfred's cheek, "Foxglove-"

"Yes," Arthur told her, counting the beats of the slowed heart, not really knowing (or caring) where the knowledge came from. "Refined into Digitalis. I know it's used in medicine, but in a dose like what they have given to him... The medic was of the opinion that it could kill him. Either way, they've effectively taken his strength from him, and I'm not sure if he will even heal properly now, let alone keep breathing-"

As if to prove his point, the unsteady rhythm beneath his touch paused, making Arthur's own breath catch.

"No!" A shuddering breath from the wounded man, and the pulse returned. Arthur let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Oh God- I cannot... Belle, please, is there anything at all? Anything!"

"Nations can not heal one another, I'm afraid." Belle answered, a sad little frown on her face, "They can only lend strength and power-"

"Then can you help me do that? You know magic-"

"I cannot do it myself, Albion." Belle looked up from where she was now brushing against the boy's hair. "I do not have the power. The fae are weak in this world that doesn't remember them. We as a whole have lost much of our own strength over the years. We can perform simple magics, but the more powerful things we leave to the humans and the Nations."

"And you say that both he and I are- Nations." Arthur frowned, wondering about the term- but he couldn't wait to try and figure things out on his own, or for his memories to return- if he did... "I don't remember any of it. Can you tell me how? If he dies-"

"His people will suffer. Not as much as they would if Germany was poised to take over his country- his brother is close enough, and able to step in if necessary- but if America dies... all he stands for will be lost, and..." Belle studied him closely, "Even if you do not remember now, it will break your heart all over again. None of the fae ever want to see that again."

"Tell me what I have to do." Arthur said, his other hand stroking baby soft blond hair, "We can work out the other details later- like what happened, and why I can't remember things like most of my past save a few glimpses. Right now... you are correct, and even if his people were not relying upon him-"

"Germany has unwittingly made it easier for you," Belle told him, flittering up to sit on his shoulder, "Your blood flows through him- that is the first step, the first material component of the spell. The second is the symbol."

With a gesture, a glowing picture floated in front of his face. _(Black on stone, the ritual was in progress, and soon it would be at it's height- they could win with this, truely-_)

"Like this, Albion." Belle said, "Draw it on his skin, and then words- "

_("Who's drawing these pictures- It can't be you, can it?" The taste of chalk dust in his mouth, on his fingers, "Of course not, you idiot. I don't have time to waste on such frivolities.")_

"Until the sun touches the pillar of the world, my strength is yours, my blood is your blood, we are one." The language was most certainly not English- but Arthur understood it anyway. "You have it, then?"

"Yes. I can do that- but we have to figure out how exactly we're going to get away. We could steal one of their vehicles-"

"You will have to rely on America- Al- for navigation. I can not travel in one of those iron boxes. I can barely keep a watch over you- the other fae in the area have promised to watch over you, but they cannot do much other than point a direction." Belle watched him for a moment before adding, "Of course, you can also rely on your senses- you can tell where your home is, no matter where you are."

"I can?" Arthur frowned, thinking.

"Try it. Don't stop to think- look towards England."

Automatically, Arthur's head went up and he looked towards a corner of the room.

"That's the direction. Remember it, if you get lost."

"Now, about getting out-"

"There are a few minor spells that you can use- but be cautious, Albion, if you are sharing your strength, they may not be as effective, and weaken both of you."

"Sharing strength won't heal his wounds, will it?" Arthur felt a slight sinking sensation, "If he moves too much-"

"You will have to watch over him. He is still healing, and will continue to do so while you have his strength- however..."

"I understand." Arthur said, "Can you do some scouting for me, Belle? Find out how many guards there are, and where the General- Germany is. We need to move out tonight."

He turned to the figure that was far too pale, despite the light tan that coloured the bits of his skin that weren't bruised. They would leave as soon as possible. Arthur was not going to let them kill Alfred.

England would hate him, if he did.


	19. Chapter 19

7:45 PM Mitte, Germany

Matthew dozed.

He hadn't ment to fall asleep after Zierenberg, but somehow the stress of the situation had left him limp. Canada had meant to tell Francis to wake him if he showed signs of nodding off- but knowing Francis, he wouldn't allow it.

So he was back in the dreams of bunnies (Why Alfred insisted on calling them 'bunnies' instead of 'rabbits', Matt would never understand- perhaps it was just another symptom of the childishness- the bit of Al that had never truly grown up.) And polar bears, and brown bears and chipmunks and... but the fire in his brother's body wouldn't let him see the peaceful pastoral images that came with natural sleeping. Instead it morphed, tossing him back into the firey wreck that had resulted from a simple selfless act-

_"England, you've got to take the chute and go- A soft landing is still pretty hard. Take the chute and get your skinny ass out of here." He didn't have to turn to see England giving him a steely glare that would normally (well, had he still been in the years before the Revolution) make him obey instantly._

_ "Casualties happen in wars, America- your people are relying on you. Let it go before-"_

_ God, England still didn't understand- he didn't want to be like everyone else, he wanted to save people- the world- Even if Germany was an enemy now, he was a friend before, and would probably be again, and parts of him- some of his people- were a part of America now, even if they still loved and missed _him_, they loved America more, and he wasn't about to let them down, the ones with family still a part of the other nation who were completely innocent, but unable to do anything-_

_ A red indicator light flashed a warning a split second before-_

_ "Oh fuck- the wing-"_

_ Fire filled the bay beside the wing, incinerating, melting the radar equipment that had been part of the jamming effort on this particular mission- They would have come off without a hitch if Germany hadn't-_

_ No time to think. _

_ "England get out- get-_

_ "Not without you!" England had a hand on his shoulder- "Come o-"_

_ "The ground approached far too fast, and it was almost too much for America to pull _up_ on the controls, to not hit more than that tower in – _

_ Trees. Trees-_

_ Everything broken. Pain. Oh god- England- where was England-_

_ Hurt hurt hurt- can't pass out. Got to find England. Can't move, have to find- Burning alive- Fuck, it hurts. _

_ "God-" A whisper, a cough, "Still alive-"_

_ He tried to say something, but all that came out was a weak sounding whimper. _

_ Fuck, America hated feeling so weak- but pain was turning the edges of his vision black and red, and England was moving him. He tried to keep some of the weight off of the smaller Nation, but- fuck, it hurt. Oh god it hurt- And England's face- he was bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow, and dirty and slightly scorched-_

_ And America was getting England's uniform dirty. He thought about appologizing for that, but -_

_ Darkness was swimming through his head._

_ The pain was fading and changing, and now he could see England hovering over him, worry and determination in those brilliant green eyes. A bandage covered the cut, and England was-_

_ Why was he using spit to draw on America's forehead?_

"Belle, you had better be right-" _ England muttered, as he finished whatever he was doing, __then closed his eyes, and spoke in a language that sounded... positively ancient. _

_ "Nos somm UM." The last line was repeated twice, and something happened. A glow- He wasn't sure what- but when England opened his eyes again, they were a soft blue-green, aqua, almost. "Iggy- Arthur?" Power flowed through the connection, pattern lightly cooling against his forehead. The lethargy that had been pinning him, sitting on his chest, lightened, and..._

"Matthieu?" The familiar voice broke through the dream, pulling him away from the door, letting it swing backwards- not that it mattered, since whatever cool power that had taken away the lethargy was pushing him backwards. Out of his brother-

His eyes opened slowly to find his head in Francis' lap, the older man looking down at him with an air of concern.

"Francis- why-"

"You wouldn't wake up, so I thought it would be more comfortable this way." France had been petting his hair- and for a moment, Matthew wondered if it would have been braided if he'd remained unconscious for much longer. "You were moaning as well. Is-"

"He's... fine." And Matt knew his brother wasn't any worse, but that last bit-

"And you?"

"Rested," Matthew blinked, realizing that he felt much better than he had before the dream. "I don't know what Arthur was up to, but it made a difference for both of us."

"I would say 'Ca c'est bon', but something about this whole situation is making me very nervous."

"Moi aussi, cher papa," Matthew resorted to the language and address of long ago, "I'm not sure that I can feel him at all right now. I was thrust out of the dream- as though Al was suddenly healed- and about ten times more controlled than he usually is."

"And self control is not something that notre petit lapin is known for these days," Francis was frowning, as Matthew sat up carefully, "Angleterre, however-"

"Was doing something to Al. He wasn't really awake enough, but- what languages does Arthur speak, anyway?" Matthew glanced at the pair in the front of the vehicle. "He was speaking something that sounded really old. The only thing that I could really catch was 'nos somm un.' But that was because he repeated it a couple of times."

Francis paled.

"France?" Matthew reached over to touch Francis on the shoulder, "Francis, what is it?"

"Magic." All the air in France's lungs seemed to woosh out in one breath as he let himself fall backwards against the seat. "Angleterre is using magic on America. I prefer to use more conventional tactics for such things, however he must be desperate, using that particular spell."

"You know it, then. You believe in magic?"

"Mais, oui," France stared straight ahead, "I have known Angleterre for centuries. One would have to be completely blind not to notice his habits and his talents- I may not have seen his little friends- Purity be damned, I believe that they just do not wish to be seen- but I have seen some of the magic that he has worked over the years. I believe he has some people in London still working on cursing Germany."

"Cursing..." Matthew was at a loss for words, "They don't really believe that they can-"

"Perhaps they missed Germany, and struck America's airplane instead."

"No, I think that was a design flaw- not that Al would admit it willingly, but I think he has no choice now-" Matthew smiled faintly, "He was dreaming of the crash again. England pulled him out- I don't think he'll live that down any time soon."

"Non," Francis laughed softly. "I doubt Angleterre will let him forget. Arthur tends to hold onto things like that for centuries."

"Yes... I know." Canada winced, "I remember."

"But if he is using that spell- Nos somm UN- we are one." France tapped a finger against his own cheek, "He is planning an escape, and refusing to leave America behind. A bit-"

"I don't think he would truly wish Al harm, Francis." Matthew objected, knowing the argument already. "They may fight, and Arthur may lose his temper on occasion, but I don't think he could ever really hurt Al, or let him be hurt-"

"You are correct," Francis was giving him a knowing smile, "Perhaps there is hope for their friendship after all."

"Didn't know they had one-"

"It has been a century and a half and more. They have to stop being stubborn and unyielding at some point."

"They haven't been getting along at all- I think Yao said that Arthur went along on this trip to 'make sure that the Americans didn't bollocks it all up.' "

"And perhaps he was concerned about Alfred."

"Well, perhaps. He did try to get him to bail out before the wreck, then pulled him free-"

"And is currently lending him his own personal strength in order to free them both from Germany's custody."

"Is that what- I hope England knows what he's doing."

"So do I, cher, so do I."


	20. Chapter 20

France settled back to watch Mattheiu watch the scenery going by far too slowly for his tastes.

Actually, it was a bit slow for France's tastes as well- they were close to Kassel, even his sketchy German was useful in reading the posted signs. Once there, they would-

That's where the plans fell short.

France had an inkling of where the pair were being held, but no real address. He supposed they could drive around in circles until they found the residential dwelling with military vehicles parked in front of it- however, that would be difficult, as they would be detected by anyone watching the roads closely. And there would be people watching the roads these days.

He leaned forward to look through the windshield, between Jean-Louis and Felice, roads flying by. The map in Felice's lap was marked with the general area that they were to search. One road looked much like another in the darkness.

"We are almost there, my Nation," Felice gave him a rare smile, "A few more minutes, and-"

The fireball in the sky ahead was a beacon in the twilight.

"I think we have an address," France murmured, as he felt Matthieu sit bolt upright and start to swear. "Can we navigate that way, and cautiously? I believe there will be more company coming, so we will have to be swift, and hope that there is another vehicle we can... appropriate."

"Oui," Jean-Louis was grinning, "They certainly do attract attention- do they not know that escapes are supposed to be quiet, and stealthy?"

"This is America we're talking about." France laughed, even though Canada was giving him an exasperated look. "He does stealth about as well as an elephant on a floor made of mice and balloons."

"He's not _that_ bad, Francis," Canada protested, "He does do a few things subtly. And he's not-"

The words cut off as Matthieu blushed, apparently realizing what he was saying.

"Not what, mon cher?" Francis tilted his head, studying his young friend. "Is there something that you know that you cannot share with your papa?"

"Francis, I-" Matthieu stuttered for a moment, "There are things that I really don't think are appropriate for me to discuss with you- especially since Al... "

"Al what?" France was intrigued, "The pair of you are keeping more secrets, I see."

"Oui, papa." Canada gave him a faint smile, "Secrets are meant to be kept, not shared. I don't expect you to tell me yours, and I expect you to respect mine and Al's."

"Ah, so boring," France laughed, trying not to be intrigued. First the connection between the twins, now more secrets. "But yes, I will respect it- for now. One day, perhaps you will trust me."

"I do, to a point, Francis." Canada gave a grim smile, and reached down to check his weapon. "I trust you to watch my back while I beat the everliving snot out of Germany for what he did to Al." "So hasty. If they are escaping, we may not even need to encounter Germany."

"We still have to get the truck- as much as our closeness is … nice, I doubt you want to have either Al or Arthur on your lap all the way back to Lille- nor do I want to be that close if they should start fighting. This little car would be off the road in no time."

The smoke in the air grew closer, heavier- and Francis could now smell burning oil, green wood, and other assorted odors. What _had_ the two of them done?

He doubted somehow that Germany would stoop to blowing up something of his own, and with the efficiency that Ludwig had always shown in operations that he was personally involved in he doubted that it was an accident.

"What did they do?" Mattheiu was looking anxious as he leaned towards the window, "My god, what the hell did they do?"

"We will find out soon enough. Be prepared- I am certain our welcome will be cold, and if Germany says anything about it, filled with lead. We must strike swiftly, and be gone within minutes- the nearest base is-" France looked to Felice for help.

"Thirty minutes away, however patrols may start arriving within ten."

"Ah. Ten minutes then. Matthieu, if you can sense your brother's presence-"

"He's shut off right now, Francis," Matthieu frowned, "But I'll keep trying."

Then there was no more time, as they found the house and its surroundings aflame.

A firey inferno that France desperately hoped his allies were not trapped inside.


	21. Chapter 21

8:00 PM, Kassel, Germany

Arthur fought the temporary weakness as he glared at Alfred.

"I can help, Eng- Arthur, really." The boy was insisting, "I feel fine-"

"Don't lie to me, Alfred." The twinges of pain echoed through his own body now- he could feel them, muted within his own nerve endings. Fuck, but the boy shouldn't be so perky. "I can feel your ankle twinging, as well as the rest. If it gives out, I cannot carry you through the woods, not with this sharing-"

"My ankle's fine, they certified me fit for duty a week ago-" Alfred frowned, looking as though he suddenly realized what Arthur had said. "You can feel it? Weird. Just like me and Mattie-"

"Mattie?" Arthur parroted, "Who is-"

"My brother. Canada." Alfred seemed as though he were used to answering that particular question. "My twin. Fuck. I hope he's not picking up on any of this, or he'll be going nuts. That's another reason that I really … should have been thinking about what I was doing."

"Thinking isn't always your strong suit, it seems." Arthur sighed, "All right then. We lure them in, and you may help- but mind, you're still wounded. No matter how much better you feel right now, I _know_ they haven't given you anything for pain in the past few hours, and if you tear something, I won't be able to help you. Be careful."

"Right!" Alfred plumped up blankets to make it look as though someone was in the bed. "You bring 'em in, I'll knock 'em down!"

"You really don't listen, do you." Arthur sighed, watching Alfred pick up the stool from the corner of the room where Germany had pushed it last night. "All right then. Remember the plan- and if I tell you to get out of the way, get out of the way."

Alfred nodded readily, getting into position. Arthur took a deep breath, and mentally pushed himself back to the moment when the boy's heart had hesitated, paused for a moment- the despair, the unthinking misery that had been present for a moment- and then started to yell.

"General! Alfons! Someone- Please-" The emotion from that moment spilled over into his voice, fueled by the fear that he would yet let Alfred down, let this boy be harmed- "He's not breathing- Help!"

The sound of hasty footsteps approaching echoed in the short hallway, along with the metallic rattling of keys. Fighting the false tears that threatened, Arthur glanced at Alfred, who looked suitably impressed and- something more. Stricken, perhaps.

The door swung wide, and Alfons stepped in, only to have Arthur grab at his uniform and yank him further inside and letting the door close behind him.

Alfred moved at the same time, almost as though in sync with Arthur's movements, and brought the stool down forcefully on the medic's head, shattering the wood-

Ouch. That was going to leave a mark-

Arthur barely caught the now unconscious German, and dragged him towards the bed.

"Get the keys, Alfred." They had fallen when Alfons had been dragged into the room. Without stopping to see if the boy- man- obeyed, he turned his attention to stripping the jacket off of the officer that he had tossed onto the bed.

"What are you-"

"Your clothing is mostly ruined or missing, Alfred. I think his jacket will fit you- if not, we will have to see about something else. Can't have you running about in the woods with nothing on."

"I see..." Alfred was giving him an amused look. "Don't think the boots will fit though-"

"Yours are under the bed. They were the last thing they removed, once they stabilized you last night." Alfred's wince was visible, but Arthur could tell that it wasn't due to any physical discomfort, just a twinge of guilt- shit. Was he going to be picking up _that_ as well?

"Sorry," Alfred mumbled, subdued as he found the shoes that were tucked carelessly under the bed, "My jacket's gone, huh?"

"Unless you want to go ask General Bieldschmit what he did with it, I'd say it's gone. You can get a new one later-"  
"That was my lucky jacket." Alfred was grumbling, but stopped at a glance from Arthur. Well. Perhaps it went both ways. "Well. Maybe not so much, if we're here."

"Here." Arthur tossed the fabric at Alfred, "Try this- it will be less noticable if we encounter any people in this area. Alfred looked at the jacket with distaste but put it on anyway. It was, as Arthur had expected, slightly too small in the shoulders, and around the middle.

"Bad time to regret not dropping twenty pounds-" Alfred mumbled, and Arthur picked up the wave of insecurity and self loathing rolling off of- Wait. What? "Well, shall we? They're gonna be wondering what's taking him so long."

"It's the bandages," Arthur said, taking the medic's weapon, and putting the man's extra clip in his pocket. "They're a bit bulky. And you've a bit of swelling around some of the injuries."  
"Oh." Confusion. Alfred was confused- but those little statements seemed to make a difference, as he perked up again, brightly smiling. "Ready to take on the Third Reich?"

"Ready when you are." Arthur could feel his face form into a grim smile. "Don't forget- when I say back off-"

"I'll back off." Alfred nodded agreeably, and opened the door.

An unlucky guard was the first to see them. Arthur fired without hesitation, then regretted it a moment later, when two more took his place, weapons already drawn.

He found himself shoved to the side, and behind an enormous sideboard as the wood paneling splintered under the three rounds from the guards. Alfred had pushed him down. Arthur frowned briefly at the twinge that centered around his chest, and ran down his leg.

"Alfred-"

"Shut up." The bits of his face that were clear skin were alternately pale and rosy. "You were moving too slow. Give me the gun-"

"How good a shot are you?"

'You taught me the basics, then Prussia drilled the rest into me- hasn't changed much in years-" Alfred snatched the gun out of his hand, and leaned around the edge of the furnature to fire at a soldier that had nearly made it to their shelter. "And we don't have time to argue, as much as I'd like to-"

"What are you shooting at, you idiot?" Arthur watched as the men were forced back by the wild shot. "You're-"

"Half blind, right now. So if I hit anything, it might take 'em forever to bleed out." The words were cheerfully loud. "They wanna take the chance-"

"Oh for fuck's sake." Arthur grabbed the gun back, and let the empty clip fall to the floor, and slammed another one home. "You don't have to be the hero all the time."

He popped up over the top, and neatly picked off a guard, earning a quick stripe of pain as one of the falling man's bullets grazed his shoulder.

"Bloody hell-"

"Iggy-" Alfred yelped, eyes wide and blue-green from the spell. "Be careful-"

"I'm not trying to get shot at, you twit." Arthur snapped, not even taking the time to see if that shoulder was bleeding before refocusing his aim on the next gunman. "Stay down-"

The room was silent but for the creeking of wood, and the crumbling of plaster.

"They're all down- but where is-"

"The General. Where would you be if you were hearing a firefight in the place you were holding important prisoners?" Arthur asked uneasily.

"Charging in, but that's me, and you'd be yelling at me for it." Alfred frowned, "He's probably being sneaky, and trying to flank us through the back door or something."

"There is no back door."

"Well. Kitchen door. Don't these places have side doors?"

"Not all houses are built with multiple exits, Alfred."

"Crap. Then he'll probably be waiting as we go out the front." Alfred's face screwed up in concentration. "We need to distract him, something that keeps him from shooting us as we run out the door and to the trucks-"

"Agreed," Arthur frowned, "But what?"

Alfred had already moved, keeping low as he searched the body. Triumph leaked out of him as he held up a small object he'd found on the last body.

"I've never gotten to set one of these things off before." There was a gleeful grin on his face, "It's about time I tried it-"

Grenade.

Before Arthur could properly identify the weapon, or protest that it was too much, Alfred had moved to the window (Somehow one of his shots had taken out the glass- Arthur wondered how wildly the younger man had really been shooting-) and yanked the pin.

"Alfred, wait-"  
Too late. Alfred popped up and tossed the grenade out the window, then ducked back down.

One.

Two.

Three-

The explosion rocked the building they were trapped in, sending plaster dust everywhere, and knick-knacks flying off the shelves in miniature explosions of broken glass.

"Fuck yeah!" Alfred crowed, as he uncurled himself from his shelter.

Arthur sighed, brushing off the bits of dust and debris that had been shaken onto him. Neither of them had been deafened by the explosion, however-

"Did I get him?"

"You got the trucks, Alfred." Arthur barely glanced out the window. He'd known where the vehicles were parked- a faint memory. "One of them blew up most spectacularly. The other one is on fire."

"All ri-" Alfred stopped suddenly, "Fuck. I guess that means..."

"Yes. We don't have a vehicle to escape in now."

The effect was immediate, Alfred's expression immediately became very chagrined, and Arthur really didn't have the heart to yell at him when he looked for all the world like a kicked puppy.

"We'll have to walk as far as we can. Can you do that?" Arthur mentally checked himself, ignoring the searing sensation from his shoulder. Alfred was … well. Not fine, but no worse than he'd been before they had left the safety of the sideboard. He would do. "You can."

"I can." Alfred had sobered up, not grinning now, completely serious. Arthur got the feeling that he hadn't seen this side of Alfred for a few years. "Let's run before Luddy can recover from that blast- I'm sure he's freaked."

"I'm sure." Arthur said dryly, "Let me go first-"

The outside of the house was quite dry, apparently, and had a thatched roof that nearly made Arthur homesick. Except for the part about it being on fire, of course- but other than that, the building was quite nicely made. And the figure tossed akimbo across the tiny garden was a nice touch- the General had apparently been struck by something.

That suited Arthur just fine.

"Um, Eng- Arthur?" Alfred was just standing there, as Arthur paused by one of the trucks to grab a pack from the back. Hopefully it would be something useful, and not just the soldier's dirty laundry. But even that might be – "You know where we are, right? And which way we're going-"

"As a matter of fact-" Belle had told him where they were, "We're in Kassel. We need to be going-"

It took a moment, but he felt the pull that the fairy had told him about. Too bad she'd left them to head about fifty miles in that direction to find more fae and such that would be able to help them once they'd run out of fuel.

"That way." Arthur said decisively, "And once we're away a bit, I can check your bandages, and make certain nothing's gone wrong-"

Alfred just followed, as they headed into what looked to Arthur to be one of the deepest thickets-

And when they did finally sit down for a breather, he would ask Alfred the questions that had been pushed to the back of his mind in all the excitement of the escape.

But for now, while he still didn't remember much about his past, he could look forward to his future. Even if it contained the silly young man that that tiny tot from his memories had grown into.


	22. Chapter 22

8:20 PM, Kassel, Germany

Matthew had to admit, as far as escapes go, the awards for the showiest, most destructive, and puzzling all should probably go to his brother and Arthur.

The house wasn't recognizable- probably because the only glimpses that Canada had gotten of the place were in that back bedroom- which was currently on fire. As a matter of fact, a lot of things were on fire. The house. The trees. The garden. The canopy on the truck.

The smouldering wreckage of the other truck.

That's what made it so puzzling in a way- to an outside observer, one would immediately have to wonder; why the fuck would two prisoners stuck in the heart of the enemy's territory choose to _blow up_ the only form of transportation out of said territory that didn't involve a rough encounter with guards that weren't shot up, beaten up and otherwise either dead, wounded, or wishing.

Not only that, but the second truck hadn't really been harmed- the flaming canvas aside, it would burn itself out long before hitting the fuel tanks, or would have been put out more quickly by being driven- so why had the pair of absolute idiots not taken it?

Neither he nor Francis really had a question of the 'who' part of this equasion.

The fireball had been fairly impressive, and the explosive force that had torn apart that spare truck was most likely caused by a grenade.

Matthew made a mental note to remind America's generals to never _ever_ let him near one again.

"Wow." Was all that Jean-Louis had been able to say at the carnage.

"And you were worried that they would be helpless?" Felice sighed, gazing on the fire, and noting the still figure near the house. "I would say that you should let them loose in Berlin, and this war would be over within a day."

"Damn." Francis just shook his head, giving Matthew one of those looks. The ones that totally said 'He's your brother'.

Matthew would have personally used two grenades on the house, rather than the vehicles, but all in all, he saw the semblance of a strategy there- especially when he recognized the figure laying on the ground.

"Germany." He growled low, and ran to the singed blond before Francis could stop him. "Where are they, and what did you-"

"Ngh." Germany wasn't coherent. Matthew briefly considered kicking him, but realized that probably wouldn't help.

"Matthieu," Francis was at his elbow "Don't you think you should go look for them, rather than fool around with our prisoner?"

"Right-" Matthew pushed back that urge to beat Germany senseless. Of all the things in this war that Canada had seen this one was most certainly directly Ludwig's doing. Whatever they'd done to Al-

A quick glance at the house told Matthew that his brother and Arthur were most certainly not inside. Not even his brother was that much of an idiot- and Arthur... Arthur would probably smack Alfred in the back of the head if he so much as made the suggestion of such a thing. The faint smile at the memory of a similar event crossed his mind and his face at the same time. No, they would be walking now, and trying to get back to friendly turf. Alfred's sense of direction was going to be completely skewed by being in Europe- much as his own was- but England's-

England would head towards home.

A brief glance at the skies and the moon gave him a bearing that was confirmed by the trees, and Canada headed for the thickest growth with some hesitation. Would they really go through the most difficult path, or would they go the easier direction and eventually circle around-

A splotch of something on a bush with wide green leaves made him pause to inspect it- coppery smell, and under a brief torch light- blood. They had gone this way.

Matthew tried not to think of the implications of finding blood- one or both would be injured, he realized, as he failed to keep the thoughts out of his head. Pushing that away, he started forward, watching for the tracks and indications that the pair had been through this way.

Fuck. Alfred was better than he'd expected, and Arthur was damned good at this.

For a moment, Matthew was lost, looking for indications that he could use to track them. They couldn't have gotten far. Seriously. Wounded and tired, and-

There. Someone had missed a branch, which had settled back in an unnatural position.

Matthew was a damned good tracker, and he knew it. Finding game in the wild, finding lost tourists, lost children- but right now he was having problems finding his own brother.

It probably didn't help that Alfred would be thinking of the wrong people following him.

Abruptly, the tracks ended at a clearing- one that made Matthew want to scream in frustration and aggrivation.

Another set of tracks, this one belonging to a train were still vibrating as it chugged its way east- empty of their human cargo-

But more than likely containing a pair of escaped prisoners that didn't realize that someone was trying to rescue them.

"Well, America, I see England finally deserted you-" The voice was very familiar, and Matthew groaned mentally as he heard it. "Now that you fuckers are apart, let's try this again-"

Canada turned slowly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as a very ruffled Prussia dropped into a fighting stance, fists raised.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Prussia." Canada sighed, wondering when he'd picked up one of Arthur's favorite expressions, and if Francis had noticed- France wouldn't be happy about that- "Câlice, you'd think you were personally offended by accuracy."


	23. Chapter 23

8:30 PM

France couldn't have been happier to be in charge of the prisoner.

Well, he could have, if it had involved actually doing something to Germany that would be lasting, and end up being effective with the whole occupation thing.

"Feh." Germany spat blood for a moment, making Francis wonder how badly he'd been thrown by the grenade blast, but realizing after a moment- he'd probably only bitten his tounge. "You are taking a huge risk, France."

"A risk that is worth it, mon ami." France let himself smile, watching Germany test the bonds that Felice and Jean-Louis had wrapped him, "I cannot exactly allow you to cart my allies and friends to your heart to do what you will with them. And if it is what I'm thinking it is, I most certainly glad to be an obstruction for your little plans."

"I still own you, France." Germany glowered, and had he not been tied up, France might have been a bit frightened of him, "You will fall, it is just a matter of time."

"You have merely trespassed where you do not belong, _Ludwig_, and my people and I will have you gone before you know it." France tapped one foot, "And when Matthieu returns with our truant pair, we will be out of your hair once more."

"How do you expect to ensure that I will not immediately follow-"

"You know how the game is played, mon ami. If you try to harm us, if you put such a high priority on capturing us- you risk revealing yourself. Non, my enemy, you will have to capture us yourself- and I doubt that you will be in a condition to do such."

"You're going to shoot me then?"

"Perhaps a little in the vital regions." France smiled, "As you have done with your neighbors. But perhaps you will not be found for a good long while, and by that time- we will be long gone."

"This is a patrolled city."

"Oui!" France was glad that Germany had mentioned it. "But that is not where you will be- and since those two rogues have managed to decimate your guards, and set the place on fire, I doubt anyone will be looking to find you alive- not the regular troops, anyways."

Germany cursed at him.

"La." France said lightly, "You know that my mother did no such thing. And perhaps you did not notice, but I am in control here."

"Ah, but is your precious Canada?" Germany's foul expression turned almost gleeful. "Will England recognize your precious former colony, or will he shoot him in defense of the lunatic America?"

"Angleterre would never shoot Canada- no more than he would shoot America-"

"I would not be so certain of that," Germany's face was annoying, and smudged with soot and dirt. Blue eyes were glinting with malice. "When he does not even know who or what he is- the only faces that he knows right now are myself and America."

"He has forgotten..."

"Everything." Ludwig laughed softly, "He had me fooled for a bit, else I would have turned it to my advantage. He believes America to be his friend, and has become very … fond of the boy. Overly protective. One would think there was some affection between them. Or at least-"

"Ah, that explains so much, Germany." France nodded, remembering the little details that Matthieu had been able to retrieve. "I thank you for confirming- I take it that Angleterre's head injury was severe enough to cause this- however, there are multiple reasons that I chose to send Canada to find them. First, he has the medical training to aid them, should they be in dire need. Second, he has a bond with his brother that will not break. And third..."

"Third?"

"I suspected there might be something not right about Angleterre, and you know our history" Francis nudged Germany with his foot. "The one where he will fly into a rage over a little thing, and attempt to beat me up? My face is not a friendly one to him, however Matthieu..."

"Is often mistaken for America." Germany finished glumly. "And will be seen as potentially friendly."

"Mais oui! You have it!" France twirled around to look at the place where Canada had disappeared. If the boy did not reappear soon-

France would have to follow.


	24. Chapter 24

9:00 PM -East Bound train to Zierenberg and points East

They had barely made the train.

How that man had found them in the woods, Arthur would never know, however Alfred- he spared a glance for the figure that was currently curled up in the corner, radiating exhaustion pain and fear.

_"And where are you going liebchen?" The voice had come out of nowhere as they'd reached the clearing. "Ah- America, England- so you're what Luddy was so giddy about when he called me."_

_ "Who are-"_

_ "Prussia." Alfred's face grew dark, the aqua gaze glaring at what was a former friend and ally, "don't make me spank your ass, because I will."_

_ "Alfred." England interrupted, "Now is not the time-"_

_ "Now is the perfect time," 'Prussia' responded, pulling out his weapon. "I assume that you are responsible for that noise earlier, and Luddy is probably beside himself with regret at not killing the pair of you sooner."_

_ "You know better than that, Gilbert." Alfred scoffed, "He's probably wondering why he bothered trying to keep us locked up. Put the damn peashooter up, and go find him. He was awful limp when we left."_

_ The expression on the silver-haired boy had turned from slightly amused and dangerous to concerned and dangerous._

_ "You hurt-"_

_ "Fuck yeah," Alfred admitted, though Arthur wished he hadn't. "He's been violating Geneva conventions, and plotting to take me over for months now. You'd do the same."_

_ "Alfred-" The low grumble of a train had started from a distance, and their proximity to the rails made Arthur quite nervous. "This is not the-"_

_ "Well, imagine how happy he'll be when I march the pair of you back into his little bonfire." Prussia's sneer was obvious in the silver of the moonlight. "Now come on, little darlings. Let's move."_

_ "No." Alfred was standing tall, and Arthur could feel every twinge that it brought. "Gilbert. We were friends once. If you make us go back there, I'll die."_

_ Arthur could see the hesitation. The indecision. The twitch._

_ So could Alfred, apparently._

_ He leaped forward before the gun could go off, grabbing onto Prussia's arm and pushing it down-_

_ "Fucking brat-" Prussia didn't seem amused, "Let go-"_

_ The noise of the shot was covered by the rumbling of the train as it came within inches of the struggling pair. Arthur didn't have to hear the shot to know what had happened._

_ And all he could do at that point was act._

_ Ignoring the sudden pain in his thigh (It wasn't his, god help them both, because Alfred certainly couldn't-) he surged forward, attacking Prussia with a sudden furious punch that drove the man into the bushes, and down the short embankment before he could react. Spinning just as swiftly, he caught Alfred by the shoulders. _

_ "What were you thinking, you idiot?" Arthur hissed- but knew he wouldn't receive an audible answer. Instead he flung his arm around Alfred's waist, yanking the arm over his shoulder, and made a lucky leap into an empty boxcar._

_ "Sorry..." The whisper was in his ear, "He would've brought us back, or worse, and it would be harder to escape, and-"_

_ "Fuck," Arthur helped Alfred settle into a corner, and immediately began trying to see what he could do to treat the wound- "I know- I just-"_

That had been a half an hour ago, maybe more.

Arthur hadn't been able to do much for Alfred, other than a tourniquet made from the sleeve of a service uniform (He had to grab the fucking laundry bag, didn't he?) and bandage the impressive hole in his leg.

If he hadn't been linked to Arthur... he shuddered to think of how much worse it could have been for Alfred.

"Alfred?" He queried softly, moving to check on the wounded man again, "Are you-"

"Yeah," A shaky little laugh, "I think it's stopped bleeding, or I've run out of blood."

"It's not very funny. The bullet is still in there." Arthur bit his lower lip, and brushed his hand across Alfred's forehead. "It should come out, but I don't- you- It will start again-"

"S'ok, Iggy," Alfred's skin was warm to the touch, "I've delt with worse. At least it didn't shatter the bone-"

"Yes, that probably would be worse, however..."

"I'm sorry."

"You've said that. Several times, in fact."

"I know, but I'm still-"

"Don't be. If you hadn't- I'm just worried about-"

"Don't be. I'm a big boy now, Iggy," Alfred smiled faintly. "I'm not a little colony anymore."

"You still haven't explained all of this to me. Perhaps now would be a good time-" Arthur settled in beside Alfred, still maintaining contact. "Who am I really?"

"You're England." Alfred said confidently, "The British Empire."

"I thought I was from England. London."

"No, you're a little more than that." A faint quirk of the lips gave Alfred a mischievious look. "You're the embodiment of the spirit of the nation, it's land, its government, and its people. London is your heart. Your people are your soul."

"And you, Alfred?" Arthur brushed that stray lock down again. No matter what he did, it seemed to flick right back, "Who are you?"

"I'm America." Alfreld whispered, "Washington DC is my heart- My people are my life."

"And what happened between us- it was-"

"The Revolution, yes." Blue-green eyes closed for a moment, and Arthur was afraid that Alfred was going to sleep again. "We disagreed, my people chose another path, and we fought. I … told you I didn't want to be your brother anymore, while pointing a gun at you."

_(The rain, he always hated the rain- it flooded his fields, taking the crops away from the poor, it washed out roads, and it took away his only cherished- beloved-)_

Arthur winced, and found Alfred staring at him.

"Does it always do that when you remember something?"

"How do you know that- What do you-"

"It comes through, just like with Mattie. Not the memories, just the feeling and the dizziness- but you said something about the rain."

"I did?" Arthur gazed uncertainly out of the doorway at the scenery rattling by. "I didn't realise that I had."

"You said something about the rain- and it was raining that day." Alfred sighed, one hand lazily coming up to pat the unbandaged side of Arthur's head. "You remember little bits and pieces, don't you? And one of these days... you'll remember everything."

"You don't have to sound so disappointed." Arthur frowned, unsure of the contact. It was... decidedly odd.

"It's been nice not arguing with you constantly." Alfred explained, "And not worrying as much about whether or not I just did something to offend you- again."

"I'm not a very nice person, am I." Arthur frowned, not liking that idea. Perhaps remembering everything would be...

"No no- it's not that. Nations can be selfish, and have their own desires and agendas, but that doesn't mean that you-" Alfred sighed, "You raised me, mostly, and I loved every minute of being with you when I was small. Picnics, walks, lessons. Stories- you used to tell me stories at bedtime to scare me, but I wasn't as afraid as I pretended. Sometimes, I just wanted to be next to you."

"You were lonely." Arthur remembered the little child with the large and very sad eyes. "But why would you want to be next to me, when I scared you, and told you not to call me-"

"You remember that?" Alfred laughed softly, wincing- the pain echoed in Arthur's own ribs. "I didn't know what the words meant at that time. I didn't understand completely until years later. It hurt at the time, but what I really wanted- more than anything- was to be your friend."

"But a friend is not as close as a brother." Arthur objected, "You just said-"

"Yes, but a brother is someone that you are obligated to love because of that whole 'family' thing. Even if you chose me, it was still an obligation. A friend is someone that you choose to love." The tips of Alfred's ears were faintly pink in the filtered moonlight.

"Then you-"

"Yeah."

"I see..." Arthur frowned, resting his hand on the other man's forehead, "Even though I'm short with you, and always arguing, and-"

"It's not like I don't give as good as I get," Alfred was a bit too warm for Arthur's comfort- but that could be because he was still blushing. "I haven't been very nice to you either."

"And yet you were prepared to stay behind so that Belle could lead me to safety. You pushed me out of the way of those bullets earlier, even though it hurt. And you took on Prussia for both of us-"

"I wasn't thinking." Alfred's eyes drooped a bit. "Fuckin' asshole thinks he's so great- but that's the problem, he is pretty good at fighting, I didn't want you to get into it with him, 'cos he's got a mean streak a mile wide sometimes, and after the last war... he really kinda hates your guts. Well. He hates mine too, but you, it's a special kind of hate."

"Well, we're away from him now. All we have to do is get out of Germany, and away to London."

"It sounds so easy when you say it like that." Alfred shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"Freezing." Alfred seemed to nestle closer to him, "You mean you're not?"

"Not at the moment," Arthur frowned, trying to hold onto the larger man without hurting him further. "You're a bit warm."

A lie. He was hot.

"'M a little tired too." Alfred's voice had been a bit on the slurred side for a while, "S'okay if I take a nap?"

"Sleep, idiot," Arthur sighed, "I'll wake you when we start slowing down. We'll have to be off the train before the guards check it."


	25. Chapter 25

8:45 PM Kassel, Germany – near the tracks.

"What are you waiting for, America? Christmas?" Prussia glared at him, "Don't think I'll go easy on you for the holidays-"

"First off, you idiot, I'm not America." Canada scowled, "Secondly, you're unarmed."

"What does that have to do with it, you slime?" Prussia actually advanced, and Matthew pulled out his weapon, aiming it steadily at Prussia's chest. "You charged me when I was armed- what makes you think you're going to get off any easier. I want my gun back anyway-"

"Not yours." Matthew scowled, "You and my brother are both-"

Prussia charged, and Canada sidestepped him, bringing the butt of the pistol down on his head.

"You're both morons with over exaggerated senses of your own capabilities."

"Ow, verdammit-" Prussia hadn't gone down, instead was reeling around to try again.

"You both like to rush into things without thinking." Matthew vented, kicking Prussia's legs out from under him, watching as he went down, then bounced back to his feet, still looking as though he were going to- yeah. He was going to try attacking again.

"And sometimes I wonder how he managed to survive without Arthur there to hold his hand- but then I remember-" again, Matthew swung- missed- and was struck in return, "He's bloody determined."

"I-" Prussia was sent to his knees by the butt of the gun being slammed onto his head once more.

"But there's one big difference between you and Alfred." Matthew mused, noting the bruise that Prussia had managed to make on his face. "I love my brother. You- I couldn't care less about."

"You're not—"

"I'm Canada, moron."

A subtle sort of fear flicked over Prussia's face.

"Yeah. That's right. It's bad enough my allies forget I'm around, or mistake me for America, but I don't want you to forget as well. Because I really am tired of it." Okay, maybe that last swing was filled with resentment and anger over the whole situation- including being mistaken for Alfred _again_. "C'mon. I'm sure Francis can figure out what to do with you and Germany."

Oh. Wait. Prussia wasn't moving.

Sighing, Matthew slung the Nation's body over his shoulder, and picked his way back through the woods.


	26. Chapter 26

8:50, Kassel, Germany – remains of the cottage.

"He is taking a long time, your Canada." Germany spoke quietly over the subdued crackle of the fire still burning the house. Felice and Jean-Louis had taken turns working on the truck, putting the fire out, and making certain that the engine still worked despite the proximity that the explosion had happened- "Perhaps he ran into trouble."

They'd also been the ones to subdue the lone survivor who staggered out of the house, half naked, eyes not quite focusing.

One more prisoner to keep, apparently.

Germany's eyes kept flicking towards the trees, and Francis frowned, wondering what he could possibly be-

Oh.

Trouble.

"How many guards do you have in the woods, Ludwig, mon cher?" Francis asked suddenly, swiping a cigarette from the truck. "How many are about to swoop in to your rescue now?"

"None of your business- at least until you are under my boot, where you belong."

"Now now, Germany, Francis smiled. "Wouldn't you think they'd have acted already, if they were going to? Besides, that is _Canada_ in the forest. Do you remember the last war?"

Germany shuddered, and France knew that he did.

"Non, I think you are just trying to mess with our heads, and fool us into lowering our guard on you." Francis lit up, taking a long drag. Slowly letting it out. "You should be a bit more afraid if Alfred dies. His power combined with Canada's- and a grudge against you for murdering his sibling-"

Blue eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating. Yes. Germany was afraid of that idea. Terrified.

The sound of someone making their way through the bush echoed slightly louder than the fire, and Felice turned to watch. Francis could see her from the corner of his eye. She looked relieved, Germany looked...

Exasperated.

"There are train tracks that way." Matthieu announced, letting forth a stream of curses in that heavily accented, bizarrely twisted French of his. "They hopped the train, after they knocked Prussia out, I think."

And that explained Germany.

The silver haired man was dumped in front of Germany, and immediately Jean-Louis was behind him, binding his arms behind his back. Overkill at the moment, as Prussia was unconscious, but once he was- Francis knew him well enough. Sometimes allied with him, drank with him- but knew better than to mess with him.

"Where does that train go then?"

"Zierenberg." The answer came unexpectedly, and Germany smiled, "There is no harm in telling you- you'll never get there before they are picked up by the ever vigilant men stationed there. And the Bergermeister does not allow a prisoner to escape. You lose, France."

"If we can get there before they check the trains, or if Arthur and Alfred manage to get off before-"

"You'll never make it." Germany was such a smug bastard, "Especially if you have prisoners who are of the—"

"Who says we're going to have prisoners?" Matthieu's eyes were vicious, and even France was a bit frightened of the intensity. "We're going to have patients."

France could hardly wait to find out what Canada had in mind.


	27. Chapter 27

11:00 PM Just outside of Zierenberg, Germany

He must have dozed off for a moment, Arthur realized, as the sudden decelleration of the train, a series of jerky motions startled him into full awareness. The body laying against him, head cradled on his shoulder was still uncomfortably warm, and Alfred's eyes were still closed, though there was a slight hitch in his breaths.

They were, however, stopping. They needed to get out of this boxcar before the routine checks took place.

As loath as he was to wake his sleeping companion, Arthur poked at Alfred, shaking him gently until he mumbled something incoherent about hamburgers and aliens- before eyes that were more blue than green flickered open to look bleerily at him.

The spell was wearing off. The instinctual knowledge came to him with a lot of trepidation. If it wore off when they were still in Germany, how would Arthur get Alfred out-

"M'cold." Alfred complained softly, "We're there?"

"Yes, we have to jump now, or we'll be caught."

"K." Alfred was still being quiet, even as Arthur helped him to his feet, noting the loosened tourniquet, and the absence of fresh blood. Good. At least something was going right for them. The pangs from the wound – and the others- still stung, but Arthur could feel them less now, and the weakness- Fuck. Hopefully Belle could find them again, and had other ideas of what they were going to do.

Arthur tried to make the landing as soft as he could, however stumbled in the gravel beside the tracks, nearly falling on Alfred- who was also quite unsteady due to the inability to put any weight on the wounded leg. For a moment, he thought the younger man would cry out, as he felt the tingle of injuries being jostled, poked, and strained. If it was annoying for him when the spell was this faint, how bad must it be for Alfred-

The taller man clung to him at the side of the train, with the breeze from the heavy cars rumbling by, face buried in the crook of his neck.

Arthur was certain there were tears-

But Alfred didn't make a sound beyond a quiet- pathetic- whimper. He could be quiet when it counted.

"We need to get under cover." Arthur whispered harshly. "Hold onto me."

Alfred wasn't nearly as argumentative as he would have been- or even had been earlier.

Arthur didn't take this as a good sign, and struggled as they made their way into the leeward side of a grove of trees near the tracks. It was too close to dangerous territory, but he didn't really have a choice right now. He couldn't carry Alfred, and Alfred couldn't make it any further under his own power.

Settling the boy into the hollow of the ground, Arthur removed the jacket he'd been allowed to keep- stained and torn as it was, it was warmer than just the simple uniform jacket that Alfred was wearing. He tucked it carefully around the shivering form, and glanced around the woods, hoping for a friendly fae- finding nothing, he settled down next to Alfred, cradling him the best that he could.

A friend would do no less. Could do no less than to keep an ill and injured man warm. There was nothing more to it.

Arthur closed his eyes, trying to push past the silently pulsing headache that threatened to blossom, and to find what was lost. Even if Alfred prefered not to argue, he couldn't just let this go for the whim of one boy. Not when it meant that that same boy could die without proper care.

"Iggy," The word was soft, and almost lost in the wind blowing through the trees.

"Shh, luv." Arthur combed fingers through blond hair, "Rest for a bit longer."

"'M sorry I got you into this." Alfred murmured, going silent for long enough that the fingers combing through hair were moved to the pulsepoint at the younger's throat. As Arthur had suspected, the beat was slow, and unsteady. Almost faltering.

God, had he made the right decision to escape? He was no medic, and didn't know what to do-

"It's all right, luv. You had good intentions, even if I wouldn't say that normally." Arthur sighed, tilting his head back. Friends. He needed a few of those right now- the faires, yes, but they wouldn't be as useful as a real doctor, or even-

_(Wavy blond hair flowed over the taller boy's shoulders like a gorious cape. He wanted- he wanted that gold. Blue eyes smiled almost fondly down at him, and ruffled his head, "Big brother will be right here." _

_ Big brother..._

_ They were in a meadow somewhere in one of their lands, and it was peaceful- they weren't fighting for a change, and the people were happy, and they were happy. England wasn't in the mood to destroy that fragile peace, even if France was trying to braid his scraggly hair, and place a crown of dasies on his head- but if he did anything else, England would break his fingers._

_ The face grew older, a scruffy half-beard, but the same hair, the same eyes- He might be pressed to call France a friend... at least this once.)_

The nausea passed more swiftly this time, the headache threatened, but did not bloom.

Was Arthur getting better, or just more used to the symptoms?

The moon gave him far too much light to be entirely comfortable- he could see human made structures between the branches, and if he looked down, he could see the damage done to the young man who burned with fever in his arms. All in all, not how he would have spent the night, not with embroidery waiting for him-

Without chasing the random thought, Arthur let his eyes slide shut, hoping that he would sleep lightly enough to awaken should someone decide to venture near them. Alfred was not the only wounded person- he'd almost forgotten his own injuries in all the excitement.

His own pain, however, was easier ignored, and soon he slipped into a light slumber.


	28. Chapter 28

Midnight, Habichtswald, Germany

Matthew curled up on a blanket in the back of the truck, clinging to the familiar leather bomber jacket that they'd found after putting out the fire. Alfred's jacket.

Slowly they were finding pieces of him, first his broken glasses, now a jacket that was so saturated with blood that it was still damp in places- the white patches were now a brownish-red with dried blood. Ruined, of course. The leather would be too stiff, and then there were the holes-

How much force did it take to penetrate leather? A bit more than ordinary fabric, however it was still not a bullet-proof article of clothing (not that there was truly such a thing in this world) and even if Alfred had always acted as though he were immune to the danger of being shot, stabbed, or killed-

So much blood.

The sick feeling that had been creeping up on him for the past hour gripped him tightly, reminding him that if they couldn't do this, if they couldn't find them- he could lose his idiotic brother.

Matthew didn't want that. He was angry at the Germans now- the only one who was allowed to make Alfred cry was _him_ damnit. And the only one allowed to make Canada feel as hopeless and exasperated as he did now was America.

Their link was still there, and mostly blocked out. Matthew was afraid to look, afraid to find out how Alfred was, because the possibility that he was dying- and Canada hated that word right now- was pretty high. Wounded, _poisoned_ and still moving.

What had Arthur been thinking?

Of saving him. Canada told himself clutching the leather a bit closer, not caring if some of the still damp blood got onto his stolen uniform. He shouldn't be so suspicious, or think bad things- just because they'd fought a hundred and fifty years ago, and were constantly at each other's throats didn't mean that England would-

Fuck. No.

A cough interrupted Matthew's morbid thoughts, and he looked up from his miserable huddled position to see Francis bending over the wounded medic that they had brought with them. For no other reason than he was the only one still alive of Germany's human companions-

Francis had insisted. Matthew had been all for leaving him at the site to be found by whoever went looking for Prussia.

_ "What were you doing out there beside the railroad tracks by yourself, bruder?" Germany had asked when the managed to rouse Prussia. _

_ "I was taking a piss." Prussia rolled his eyes, "My men were amusing themselves in the town, and I wanted to go on to catch up with you, but they wouldn't let me have the keys-"_

_ "Drinking again." was the conclusion. "You should be more careful. Look where it's gotten you this time."_

_ "Well, at least it was a good fight."_

_ "You've got to be joking. America was wounded, and you let Canada knock you unconscious."_

_ "It was a good fight." Prussia had an odd gleem in his eyes that shut both of their prisoners up- especially once Matthew cleared his throat to remind them of their situation..._

_ And then they were completely silent._

Thank God for that. Prussia's voice had been getting on Matthew's nerves.

"Is he awake?" 'Alfons' as Germany had named the man hadn't regained consciousness since dropping in the front yard of the burned out house. The bump on his head, and the splinters that they'd found in his collar told them quite clearly that the man probably had a concussion from being knocked out by either Arthur or Alfred. If it was Arthur, he might be okay in a day or two. If it was Alfred- who knows. Sometimes his twin forgot to check his strength. The concussion was the only reason that they'd foregone the same treatment as the others-

"Non, petit." Francis said quietly, as though their other passengers could hear them. "I believe that Alfred is the culprit in this case. "He always did forget how hard he could hit."

"Idiot." Matthew said softly, trying to keep the little tremble out of his voice. "And the other two?"

"Still asleep. Whatever you gave them has them sleeping like babies."

"Only for a day or so- they'll start waking in six hours. I'd have given them more, but the side effects from that particular sedative are a bitch to predict and control." Matthew also had to keep that note of satisfaction out of his tone. Sedating the two Germanies was one of the best parts of the past twenty four hours. "When we get a little closer, I'll induce a fever with some of the herbs from the garden. Just remember what we talked about."

"Oui, Ja. They are from a part of our unit that was ahead of us, and fell ill while driving, and had an accident. They need proper medical care, and the closest place with such facilities is Zierenberg, under the gracious Bergermeister, who will be remembered to those who count."

"Almost," Matthew smiled grimly, "Don't forget the part where they are very delusional, and believe that they hold higher rank than they do. Their papers and patches-"

"Are burned or hidden away for future use." Francis smiled, and reached over to ruffle Matthew's hair. "Mon petit, you are very clever. I hope that your brother appreciates the lengths that you have gone-"

"Fat chance of that," Matthew sighed. His grip had loosened on the jacket for a moment, but now it tightened again. "He never really pays attention-"

"You say that, but is it true?"

Airman Johnson's face crossed his mind for a moment, bringing with it a shade of guilt, and furvitive pleasure.

"No. He just doesn't tell me sometimes." Matthew smiled faintly, "But he does show it on occasion."

"He has always been more about showing than telling." Francis laughed softly, "He might have been tempted by the treats that I brought to him when we asked him to decide between us, but in the end, he walked right to Angleterre. I believe that pauvre Arthur was in tears, or nearly so- and America noticed. Much later he apologized to me for refusing my food, but he had felt that his own stomach was less important than comforting the person who so obviously needed a friend."

"He said that?"

"Oui." Francis ran the hand along the top of Matthew's head, and let it rest on his shoulder. "Sometimes we all forget how he was as a child- even Arthur. He has always shone brighter than he allows to show, and while he may act the fool, it is by choice. He does not wish to see anything but the positive side of things."

"You-" Matthew gazed at Francis for a full minute, "You do know him, after all."

"Naturally. I did spend a good portion of his childhood trying to corrupt him, then aiding him in his rebellion. It was not all fighting, you know. Some of it was sharing-"

"And yet you don't tell anyone about this because-"

"First, Angleterre would hit me if I implied knowing America better than he, or attempting to corrupt his innocent angel." Francis looked almost mischievous. "And second- America has his reasons for acting as he does. I do not know what they are, and unless he says something to me otherwise, I will play his game of pretend. And honestly, some days I also forget."

"I don't think he's going to be able to play games right now. Being hurt as bad as that-"

"No. It is far too serious for him to continue to pretend not to see things."

"And if they gave him any medication, he'll be too busy trying to keep his head and not give anything away to play the lovable idiot that Germany expects. Or in too much pain to-" Matthew didn't voice the rest of the thought aloud. If he wasn't able to play dumb, keep his defenses up around Arthur- Arthur who, according to Francis's information, couldn't remember his own name-

"And who knows how he and Arthur are getting along without their masks. I wonder, will we find a pair of friends, or a pair of bodies that have strangled one another."

Hopefully the former, Matthew sighed, clinging to the bit of his brother that he had.

Hopefully friends.


	29. Chapter 29

1:00 AM Zierenberg, Germany

Francis hoped this plan of Matthieu's would work.

They'd made it to the city with plenty of time, and currently the trio of true military men was under the care of a doctor- who accepted Matthieu's credentials of being a physician himself, and was allowing him unlimited access to medical supplies and allowing him to assist in the 'treatment' of both Germany and Prussia.

France, however, had been left to his own devices- or more precisely- to the entertainment of the guards that were off-duty nearby. It had been years since he had played the game that they had graciously allowed him to join, speaking a rough dialect that mixed French and German freely- they were border fellows, neither French nor German, but conscripted or induced before the invasion.

Poker, France smiled inwardly, was a game for those who could control their expressions well. And Francis was a master of control. Whether or not he actually used that control was a matter of discretion. Tonight...

A half hour later, and a few marks lighter, Francis had new friends, who were about to go on patrol around the edges of town, and along the tracks. As there had been no word of new prisoners being taken, no unusual activities around the train station, France made a point of offering to join them.

So it was that France found himself surrounded by German troops, not as a captive, but as a temporary comrade.

The night was a bit chilly, and Francis found himself wondering if Angleterre and America were cold somewhere- the seasons were starting to turn, of course, and they were most likely ill-equipped to deal with it.

Laughter seemed to be the rule of this group, and Francis couldn't help but wonder if their hearts were truly in Germany's current madness. Between the soft crunching of gravel as they walked the second set of train tracks, and the laughter of the men, it was a wonder that they ever found any fugitives.

But...

"Tracks, sir!" And suddenly France was on the alert again, "Stow-aways!"

"Are you sure? It could be something else." The commander was suddenly all business, much different from the laughing man who had just been telling off-color jokes that put Francis' teeth on edge. "Which way, man?"

"The woods- this way!"

The woods was an exaggeration- the sparse stand of trees could hardly be compared to say the Black Forest, or even some of the lush green woods of France, but they were cover nonetheless. Francis' pulse quickened, as he drew his pistol, prepared for action, should his fugitives be found-

But he couldn't act thus- he had to allow them to pick up the pair who were likely to be in sorry shape, and bring them to Matthieu, where the others would work a way to bring them out.

The low mournful cry that rattled the bushes made him pause in his actions, however.

"It's an elk?" Francis recognized the animal's call, and the silhouette that now stared at them from over a depression in the grove's floor behind a fallen tree. The click of a rifle alerted him to-

"Hans, put that away- there's no sense in killing it. You've probably just disturbed its sleep- look-" France heard the others murmuring amongst themselves, and noted the soft brown fur near the animal's feet. A mate. A pair of elk this far south- they were usually found in Poland, perhaps, or the Baltic region. It made him suspicious for a moment, but- it was just a pair of animals.

"A bit out of its home turf- but then again, so are a lot of people these days." The squad's leader shook his head, motioning for those who had raised their guns to lower them and move on."Come on, we have a lot of ground left to cover. Leave the animals to sleep tonight."


	30. Chapter 30

3:00 AM Outside Zierenberg, Germany

The thing that woke Arthur was not the tramping of boots, or the sound of men talking as they followed the path of the train tracks, smacking every bush as they went.

No, what woke Arthur was the fact that he was _warm_.

Opening his eyes, he found that his view of the world was currently being blocked by something large and furry. And dark. The moon's light wasn't bright enough now for his eyes to pick up a colour, however a guess would be something black or dark brown.

Arthur started, accidentally jostling the man in his arms, who let out a pained grunt before he could stop- oh fuck. Alfred- the boy's face was in the shadow of the creature, which upon further study proved to be a rather large elk, of a variety that hadn't been seen in England for-

"Moose," Alfred's voice was soft, almost inaudible. The glint of moonlight that peeked around as the creature- it had to be as large as a horse at the least- turned its head to regard the pair with a large dark (Arthur would have said 'soulful' but that would have just been too much) eye, and a whistling snort that blew more hot air over both of their faces. A blessing of sorts, as Alfred was still shivering faintly, even though Arthur could have used him as a furnace at this point.

"What-"

"Shh." Arthur heard it then. The tramping of boots on loose gravel, and the rustling of bushes being hit with sticks- or guns.

The elk- or moose, as Alfred had named it huffed again, and stepped carefully around them. Another figure- how the hell Arthur had missed the fact that there were two of them, he wasn't sure (Maybe it was the startling fact of awakening with a two ton beast giving him the once over?)- meandered beside the first, settling down on their more open side. It was smaller, but not by much.

The sounds grew closer, and now Arthur could hear the gutteral angry sounds of the men speaking. A patrol- they wouldn't come this way, he hoped-

A soft sound drew his attention. A soft clicking- that coincided with- Alfred's teeth were chattering, and Arthur could only believe that the sound was far too quiet for the patrol to pick up- but if they got close enough-

"Tracks!" the shout came, "Stow-aways-"

Fuck. Their luck was-

"Which way, man?" The commanding voice was too close for comfort. Arthur's had slipped down to his pocket where he'd stowed their stolen gun. He couldn't take them all, but he could at least make them pay for-

"The woods. This way!" Closer still.

The elk above them raised its head and let out an eerie low cry.

"What the-" The footsteps stopped. "It's an … Elk?"

"This far south? You must be- Oh." The clicking of a gun, "Oh stop it, we're too close to the city, and are you going to carry it back to the station?"

"I- It is rather big, isn't it?" Another eerie call from the Elk. "And why is it doing that?"

"You've probably disturbed its sleep, Hans." Laughter, "See there? There's another one there. They probably crossed the tracks, and disturbed the ground to mark territory."

"A bit out of its home turf- but then again, so are a lot of people these days." The clattering sound of the guns being lowered (Arthur hoped, prayed-) "Come on, we have a lot of ground left to cover. Leave the animals to sleep tonight."

The laughter and footsteps faded gradually, and Arthur let loose a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. _I'm getting far too old for these close calls_.

He wasn't the only one who'd been tense- Alfred suddenly relaxed in his grip, the chattering teeth quieting at last. They'd both been frightened, but the boy-

Alfred's hand rose to where the elk was bending it's head to him. A shaking pat to the creature's muzzle, as it held still, in a position to lay down and crush them both, but not doing so. A creature of magnificent power and bulk-

"Thank you." Alfred whispered, and now Arthur could see the faint blue glow of his eyes in the scant light. "Thank you, both."

They'd been saved. By a pair of elk.

Arthur just stared at Alfred for a moment, realizing that the younger man was still touching the animal with a reverence that he would think would be reserved for a close friend, or a small child. Like he was talking to-

Talking to-

Well, Arthur talked to fairies, so it made sense that Alfred talked to animals, didn't it? And the polite thing to do in this sort of instance would be-

"Thank you." Arthur smiled at the elk, wondering if it even understood him.

"He says 'you're welcome'." Alfred's hand fell away, caught by Arthur. "They came because they heard we needed help-"

"They're a long way from home," Arthur said softly, realizing that the strength in that hand had faded along with the spell that had linked them. Alfred had to be really fighting to stay conscious, with all the rough treatment that he'd received. "And so are you."

"Yeah." Alfred breathed, "I can feel it there though. People living, working- trying to keep their hopes high, trying to keep their defenses up. A wedding, right now in DC. A birth in LA. Kids playing, once school is let out- life really does go on whether a war is going on or not."

"What does it feel like?" Arthur wasn't sure if he should ask, "This life?"

"You've been around longer than I have," Alfred squeezed his hand weakly, so different from the confident young man who had shoved him forcibly earlier. "With me, it's freedom- like the wind whistling through your hair, caressing- I think you described it that way too. Just … overwhelming sometimes, when your people love you"

The elk seemed to agree, snorting and blowing warm breath across them.

The proximity of the animals had the benefit of warming them both. Alfred had stopped shivering. Arthur wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing- but they were warm, and safe for the moment.

"Your friend agrees with you." Arthur stated the obvious. "Do you often talk with non-human creatures as well?"

"Not... as much as I used to. But this- this one is special."

The elk made a soft groan, and tossed his head.

"We can trust him," Alfred told the creature. "Promise."

"Trust me..." Arthur felt his heart tremble. Alfred had been trusting him the whole time- he didn't want to break that trust.

"There are animals that represent the spirit of their kind." Alfred said, in a voice that Arthur almost recognised as – something different about the boy. "My native peoples recognized this, which is why they recognize Nations among themselves and among those who came from Europe. This- this is Moose. He and his mate are … special among the animals. They can travel in ways that I don't quite understand yet. They can be where they want to be, or need to be."

"That's ..." Arthur tried to find the words.

"Silly?" Alfred didn't look hopeful that his ideas- his people's ideas- would be accepted. "It... is different. But there's also Mattie's Kumajiro."

"I wasn't going to say 'silly'. It's incredible that it's a secret." Arthur frowned, as the Moose nuzzled him. "But why would they exist?"

"Same reason that Nations exist, England." Alfred used the name almost tenderly, "And that's something that none of us have ever figured out."

"Ah," Arthur sighed, "One of the unanswerable questions."

"And often unasked. You always said you'd never thought about it, when I was small." Moose left off nuzzling Arthur to bend down a bit further to breathe on Alfred's neck. "Hey- "

"What does Moose say now?"

"He says we should rest until daylight, and then he'll show us another way around the town." Alfred's voice had been steadily more tired through their brief conversation. "And I can't... I mean..."

"You're exhausted, sore, and probably still feeling ill." Arthur filled in for him, "And shouldn't move, let alone can't. I don't mind telling you that I'm all in myself. If Moose is going to watch over us, and perhaps keep you from shivering your stitches open, I would really thank him for staying. I only wish I had a way of-"

"A bit of honeycomb when we get back to a place where we can. He'll find us there-" The silver light showed that Alfred's eyes were closed, and Arthur couldn't help but tuck his own head close to the younger man's as the words trailed off, leading them both into the land of dreams.


	31. Chapter 31

5:00 AM Zierenberg, Germany

Matthew needed to sleep.

He'd put it off in the pretense of tending to his fake patients- well, the two fake and one real- making certain that Germany and Prussia would sleep for at least another day before they awakened to ramble about escaped prisoners and mad Canadians. Thankfully the contents of Alfons' medical kit had been enough to keep them down until they arrived at this hospital, and the doctor on duty was more than willing to allow Matthew to treat them without question.

It was almost as though the people in this city were afraid of illness.

Swaying groggily, he doublechecked Prussia's pulse, only to find Felice catching him before he could land on his 'patient'.

"Sir, Doctor Willhelm," Felice steadied him, using the cover name just in case someone was listening, then led him to an empty cot in the ward. "You must sleep. I have been watching you on the go steadily all day. You did not sleep in the truck. Those small naps are not going to sustain you for much longer."

"You're right," Matthew admitted with a yawn, "I- just can't. Not until we're clear-"

"And we won't be clear if you're falling all over the patients, Doctor." Felice pushed him to the bed. "Do I have to sit on you to make you stay down?"

Matthew blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Not like that, idiot." Felice smiled faintly. "If you dream of your brother, it may give us a clue to his location, and if not- you don't collapse. Frank is out on patrol with some friends he made gambling- he should be back soon to watch over our miscreants."

"Yeah, I should at least catch a little-" Canada yawned again, and found Felice tucking a blanket around him.

"I will be right here as well, friend." she told him quietly, "And I am just as good at giving an explanation of events as any of you."

"All right..." Matthew let his eyes close, uncertain if sleep would take him or not- but falling into it before he noticed.

_It was dark and cold. So cold despite the warm body next to him, carding long fingers through his hair. Despite the large creature that was sheltering and protecting them both, had covered their presence with his massive presence-_

_ An old friend from long ago._

_ The memory of the creature hadn't faded with time- he still occasionally went in search of Moose, just to spend time in a presence older than himself, older than England._

Ah, _Matthew thought, _ A dream about moose instead of bunnies. How-

_ "Alfred," The voice was England's, and brought about images of green fields and trees and wonderful things of that color. "Alfred, can you open your eyes for me? Please-"_

_ He couldn't. He was so tired. The pain was still there, but dulled, as though- was this what it was like to die?_

Fuck.

_Or maybe he was just so used to it now that he didn't notice it any more._

_ "Alfred!" So much effort. He should make England happy- Arthur- by obeying the command, but- it was so hard._

_ It was like prying open a can without a can opener, but slowly he managed it, letting the worried blurred face above him come into what focus his eyes could make without glasses. Keeping them open was another chore that was sapping at the waning strength-_

_ FUCK._

_ "Damn it, Alfred, don't give up yet. We can make it." Was Arthur crying? "Come on, Moose will help support, you, all right?"_

_ "Y-yeah." He couldn't move. So tired. Couldn't move-_

_ "Alfred-"_

_ Matthew reached out for Alfred, trying to find him- to steady him. Please don't let go, brother, please- you're mine, you can't leave me alone- not now not ever, pleasepleaseplease-_

Darkness returned.


	32. Chapter 32

6:30 AM Zierenberg, Germany

By the time Francis walked into the hospital to check on Matthieu, he was tired. Not completely worn thin as the boy must be, but tired all the same. A long night of checking the nooks and crannies of the town, all along the railways. They'd only found more wildlife and a young soldier with his even younger townie girlfriend. (Now that was a different kind of wildlife right there.)

The town was going to wake soon, and they would have to explain their presence to the bergermeister once more—perhaps he would tell them this time about why he seemed so uncomfortable about illness being within his city. Francis was certain it would be an amusing story, and take up enough time for them to figure out how they were going to find Arthur and Alfred.

He'd only made it halfway up the stairs when Felice banged open the door and came running down, barely managing to halt as she caught sight of him. France frowned at the frantic look upon her face.

"What is it? Have they awakened?"

"Matthieu." She hadn't quite caught her breath. "He fell asleep- he was talking in his sleep, and then just- his eyes are open, but..."

France needed to hear no more. There was something wrong with his precious Matthieu, his former colony- his friend. He suspected it had something to do with Alfred. He hoped that he was wrong.

Violet eyes stared at the ceiling blankly.

No... not blankly. With confusion.

"Matthieu?" No response. The head did not turn, the eyes did not blink. Nothing. "Matthieu, what is wrong?"

Francis sat on the edge of the cot, touching the too warm face. Had the boy worked himself into a fever? That would be an ill omen for their mission. Slowly, ever so slowly the eyes focused as the touch was registered. A slow blink. A flash of recognition.

"F-france?" Hesitation. The accent was odd. "I- where am I?"

"Hospital, Matthieu, what happened this time?"

Those same eyes rolled up into the back of the boy's head, and the stiff body suddenly lost all tension as Matthieu passed out.

Francis frowned. Merde. Canada had been working far too hard, with so little sleep, and now he was ill. One hand reached to brush the soft fair hair away from his forehead, and paused.

He touched Matthieu again, carefully comparing the feel of the boy's skin to what he could have sworn-

His skin was perfectly cool. Normal.

With a soft cry, violet eyes opened once again to stare at France.

"Francis!" Matthieu cried. "Francis, they- he-"

"Mon cher-" Francis petted his hair, "You had Felice worried- I hope that you have better news than I. The only things that we found on our little patrol were wild creatures."

"Moose." Matthieu said, stubbornly pushing the hands away, and forcing himself to sit up. "Were there any Moose?"

"Moose- " Francis frowned.

"It's important, France- they would be—" Matthieu's face screwed up in concentration. "They would be called elk here."

"Oui, a pair-" France wondered if he should hold Matthieu down, so that Canada could rest- however-

"That's where they are!" Matthieu was pushing him aside, "Show me- quickly. There's not much time. Alfred- he's not doing well at all. I think he- please-"

After that, Matthieu lapsed into the mix of native languages, French, and English that Francis could barely follow. The word 'idiot' did appear occasionally. He was upset- and rightly so. France had no choice but to lead him out of the hospital, barely pausing to tell Felice to find Jean-Louis- and for Matthieu to grab some supplies from the resident doctor's medical stash.

The half mile to the place where he and the patrol had seen the elk was never so short, and despite his weariness, the adrenaline released by the thought that their mission would finally reach a happy conclusion made the spring come back to his step.

Only to fall away, as they reached the little grove of trees, and find that the hollow behind the old log was empty, save for another bloodstained jacket.

It was France's turn to cling to the garment that he recognized immediately despite the torn and worn condition.

It was England's.


	33. Chapter 33

7:00 AM Zierenberg, Germany

It had been the only thing that he could think to do, when the soft beat of Alfred's pulse had faltered once again under his fingertips.

Arthur could only take so much more. He was still wounded- and couldn't remember- and didn't have time to even properly try to think about things. Alfred was going to die if he dithered around. He didn't want to break that trust that had been given to him within the confines of the cottage bedroom, when he told Alfred that they would make it home-

_We will_, Arthur told himself, biting the tip of his thumb in a sudden burst of instinct, then holding it to the younger man's mouth. A few drops slid past parted lips, to the throat-

It had to be enough. Even if most of what he'd been given yesterday (Oh god, it was only yesterday) had bleed out through the newest wound, this would satisfy the technical requirement that the target shared blood with him.

The symbol- he had to remember it exactly, and in his panic, used a mix of blood and saliva to trace the pattern on Alfred's forehead. Arthur allowed instinct to control his finger, hoping that it would prove more faithful than a faltering headachy England.

"You are of my blood, sharing my blood," He murmured in the language that was older than the boy in front of him, "Until we reach safety, we are one. We are one."

The changes were something he'd decided on at the last moment, allowing – again- the odd instinct to take over. Until he and Alfred were safe, he did not want this spell to break. No 'hours'. No chances on the daybreak over America being the trigger for the end of the spell. Just- until they were both safe.

The symbol glowed a soft green, and Arthur felt the power under his solar plexus expand, then, suddenly, drain.

The dizziness nearly made him fall over onto-

"F-francis-" Blue-green eyes were muddled with fever and pain, and Arthur wasn't sure if he should be happy that the boy was awake, or go with the anger that the name he'd uttered brought him.

In the end, he went with 'neither', and simply forced himself to stand, reaching a hand down for Alfred.

"Come on, lad." Arthur said, "We've got to get around this town, and towards home quickly."

"E-england?" The younger man was about as steady as Arthur, and still unable to bear full weight on his wounded leg. But he was alive, and as long as Arthur could keep himself going, Alfred would be- well. Alive. And if they could get somewhere safe, where he could be treated without further incidents..."I- saw France- and -"

"Your friend, the Moose is going to lead us around the town," Arthur said, hoping that the tear streaks on his dirty face weren't very noticable. The hope vanished when one trembling hand traced the tracks with a look of curiousity and wonder. "We've got to go-"

"Arthur, what did you do?" Alfred couldn't be seriously trying to engage in dialogue right now. He was half dead- and had Arthur not acted, he probably would be- and this was not the time- "I- can taste blood..."

"This is not the time, Alfred, let's go before someone decides that another patrol is in order. We have no idea when the trains are going to run, and quite frankly, I'm still a bit peaked." Arthur dragged a shirtsleeve across his face, and put enough pressure on Alfred's waist to force him to move forward and put his arm around Arthur's shoulder. "We need to put enough space between us and this village as we can while it's early- when people start waking up, we'll be moving targets."

"You'll have to explain it to me when we stop to rest." Alfred insisted. "And Moose says his mate will look for Belle or one of those fairies that can help."

"They can see fairies?"

"Of course they can." Alfred was so no-nonsense at the moment, it was a wonder- one arm around Arthur, the other clinging to Moose's side, they were hobbling forward towards the tracks- across them, Arthur could already see the embankment that led to a river. "You always said innocent and pure things could see fairies. And these guys are about as innocent as you can get."

"Oh." Arthur sighed, keeping quiet for a while as they walked- half stumbing over the iron rails, nearly taking a spill as they climbed down the embankment, and to the river's rocky edge. "We need to keep going north."

"Which way?" Alfred's face was a bit pale and a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek to hit the gray jacket that- Shit. They'd left Arthur's jacket behind. Well. No help for that now- he doubted there would be anything of use in going back to get it. "Arthur..."

"There. In that clearing. Moss grows on the north side, so-" Arthur pointed, "This way."

"Okay." Alfred went silent, obviously concentrating on continuing to move, which was most certainly not easy, even with both the Moose and Arthur helping him stand. "We probably have to cross soon-"

"No, the river will lead us to the sea, and then-" Arthur hoped this one did, anyway. It could very well lead to a lake. "We can find a boat, and a radio, and you can call someone to pick us up."

"...Yeah." Alfred agreed, and then the quiet returned, only broken by an occasional grunt from Alfred or the large animal next to him.

Arthur was glad of the silence. He didn't want to have to explain about the second casting of that spell, about how closely they were bound right now, and how much he could feel the aching pain and the weak tiredness spiking up through his legs into his spine and jogging his neck, and making his head ache horribly.

He missed the noise of the train.

But not as much as he missed the noise of the sea, and the creek of the ropes as the sails filled and took the ship-

_flying. It was absolutely as close as mankind would ever get to flying, and England loved it. Loved the feel of the wind on his face as he stood in the prow, then stalked to the wheel with a sharp command to the men. _

_ They would show no mercy to their enemies- well, perhaps if they begged enough, but he had never found one of them to sate that particular itch._

_ Gold awaited, treasure- discovery- and perhaps one day he'd go beyond the far horizon, to see the edge of the world, where new land was rumored to have been discovered._

_ But today? Today they hunted._

Arthur stumbled as the memory traced its way through his head, leaving a trail of icy pain and an urge to see the ocean, to let the salt air clear his head, and make this horrid dizziness go away-

"Arthur?" He was caught in someone's arms. "We need to rest now, Moose."

Gratefully Arthur sank down, finding himself planted upon a large stone near the water. Alfred sat next to him carefully, while Moose wandered into the water, munching on … something that was growing there. Weeds, it looked like.

"Arthur, what did you do back there?"

"Magic." Arthur wasn't in the mood to prevaricate or simply play dumb. He couldn't. The same light-headed feeling was lingering. "It was the only way."

"Magic- like- what you did back in that bedroom?" Alfred was frowning. A frown didn't suit him- smiles should be at home on the sunshine-warm face- the image of Alfred smiling and unhurt superimposed itself over the battered and worried face that watched him now. "Arthur- what kind of magic?"

"Blood magic." Arthur said simply. "There was no choice. I could either let them continue to poison you, and take us both to Berlin and the unknown, or I could link your life-force to mine, and hope that it was enough to sustain you until we could get help."

"Blood..." There was a bitter taste in Arthur's mouth now, "Arthur.. You... I..."

He prepared himself for … something. A disgust that he would stoop to magic, that blood was involved- America was founded by people who found magic repulsive, after all-

"Arthur, you shouldn't have risked yourself for me." An arm was around him, pulling him close to a body that tingled, sending shocks of echoed pain through Arthur's own form. "If you had let Belle lead you to safety... you could have sent someone back for me."

"I don't know that, Alfred. General Bieldschmidt ordered you restrained that way because you could break your way free otherwise. If I had escaped and left you there – he was completely correct. I would have been- I couldn't leave, with you hurt, and not knowing, not being able to make sure-"

"Arthur, you really... That's the most irrational and emotional thing I've heard from you in years." Alfred wasn't laughing, though Arthur was certain that at one time he would have been. "If only you didn't hate me normally- If you hadn't lost your memories-"

"They're only misplaced, Alfred." Arthur didn't feel like being snappish, not with the lighter than air feeling. The boy was very... likeable. "They're floating through at random moments, giving me a headache and a glimpse of what kind of person I really am. It's not a very nice one, is it?"

"You have your moments." A head was laid on his shoulder.

"And... I don't think..." Arthur hesitated, wondering if he should tell Alfred, or let him continue in his ignorance (Oh, but it didn't seem like a blissful ignorance, this one)

"What?"

"I don't think I really hate you." Arthur let the words burst forth. "I think... I was hurt, but I don't think... I could ever hate you. Not completely. Belle said that …. you broke my heart."

There were tears in those blue-green eyes as he moved away so that Arthur could look at him, and look he did, hands cupping the face, and ignoring the twinge in his own shoulder.

"Don't cry, Alfred." Arthur smiled, "Even if you hurt me in the past... we have a history that isn't all unpleasant. And the future- that could be more good things to happen for the both of us. I remember meeting you. You were lonely. I saw it in your eyes, because I'd seen the same in my own for many years. Maybe that's what this amnesia is- a second chance to banish that horrible emptiness-"

"Arthur..." And the tears weren't stopping, they were starting again, and Alfred's face was buried in the crook of Arthur's neck- but the wetness on his own face wasn't from Alfred.

Foolishness, this crying for the fleeting feeling of happiness.

Moose lifted his head from the water, and gave them a patient look that Arthur could almost swear was a smile.


	34. Chapter 34

8:00 AM Zierenberg, Germany Railroad tracks

France was holding onto England's jacket.

England's uniform jacket.

His uniform jacket was stained darkly with blood, and torn at the shoulder.

God, could this get any worse?

Oh, wait. It had, with that last part of the dream that had ended with darkness, and floating, and being thrust back through the door that had been slammed shut behind Canada.

There was also blood on the leaves that had lined the hollow that had contained his brother and Arthur- not much, but still. The depression was still slightly warm, and the leaves had been stirred up and-

"We can find them." Matthew said stubbornly, "If Moose is with them- and Alfred- They cna't get too far."

Francis was pale, but nodded anyway.

"There are tracks- Even Moose leaves tracks." Matthew spun around the depression, looking for signs- two bodies curled up for hours had left a slight change in the bed, one that would be gone in a few more hours. A bit of mud there, from where one's foot had slipped while sitting down or getting up-

A larger impression where a huge animal had also shared the same bed- and four distinct hoof prints surrounding the two smaller ones. Moose had stood over the two of them for a while- like a mother over her calf.

"More. More." Matthew looked closer, noting a sprinkle of blood that marked the log- what the hell? "And after that..."

The tracks moved back towards the rails. Matthew followed. Footprints were not clear- but two were obviously made by two legged creatures, and one by a four legged-

But...

_That's impossible,_ Matthew's mind told him, _Your brother is-_

Matt gritted his teeth, following the steps to the gravel surrounding the iron rails, noting a small dot of blood against gray-white stone. A bit of a disturbance to the grasses on the other side-

They weren't- Arthur wasn't making this easy- but they – Arthur also was not making it difficult for anyone who was intent on following him.

Fuck.

This could take hours, but they didn't really have hours.

"Traces?" Francis was behind him, and to the side, staying out of the path that Canada was investigating currently. "He- they're headed downhill to the river."

"There's a river down there?"

"Yes, and rocks, and- " Canada continued moving. Down. Scuffed dirt, disturbed rocks- someone had fallen, but neatly picked up. And there- those were two distinctly different sets of boot prints. He put his own foot next to one that he hopedprayedwanted-

The same size.

"Al's..." Tears pricked at his eyes. How? Why? Matthew had been sure that he'd been- it had all hurt so horribly, and he'd been so tired-

"Before you woke up fully, you stared at me, and asked where you were in the most outrageous imitation of your brother." France was chattering again, to break the sudden silence. He hadn't noticed the tears yet. "Your dreams are mixing you up if you-"

"I did?" Matthew frowned, tears still threatening, "I don't remember that. I remember floating with Al- but-"

"Perhaps he knows now that you are near. You can feel him, can you not?"

"I... can't. He's shut me out. I thought it meant he was..." Matthew couldn't say the word. "But it might just mean he's in control of himself right now. Awake and aware."

"Not even a peep?"

"Not even a whisper right now. Just a large headache that won't go away. And I know Al didn't get knocked in the head- everywhere else, yes, but not his hard head." Matthew almost smiled, and tracked a few more steps. Moose was with them, so they wouldn't get too lost, but whatever Arthur had done- and it had to have been Arthur- "Francis..."

"Yes, mon cher?"

"What was that spell that you think that England used on America?" Matthew kept his tone even, as thoughts raced through his head. His poor aching head- once they were back on friendly soil, he was going to sleep for a week, take a long shower, and then find something less complicated to do, like shoot at Germany's soldiers.

"It was Blood Magic," Francis took a moment to come up with the answer. "Mixing his blood with cher Alfred's blood is the first component, then a circle- and the words that you heard- a vow of sorts to the old powers that govern magic. That in exchange for a fraction of power, the target is bound to the caster- Sharing the strength of one with both for a few hours. It is useful for desperate situations, when one needs to aid an ally, however-"

"What would happen if one were to use such a thing more than once?"

"That is dangerous, Canada." France's tone became completely serious. Somber, even. "Especially of one has weakened, or becomes injured- the other is affected. Angleterre would not be so reckless."

"If he were desperate, and afraid, he might." Canada spoke slowly, staring at the sudden expanse of rocks next to the river. He couldn't see any more traces. Moose had taken them directly to the worst and best possible path. If Matthew couldn't track them, neither could Germany's men. But- "If he thought if he didn't do it, Al would die. And he doesn't remember the rules of his own hobby."

"We need to find them, petit. Soon."

"I don't know if we can. There are no more signs- I can't—"

"With the flow. Angleterre will make for the sea."

"But this river flows into a lake-" Matthew remembered the map quite clearly. "But Arthur won't know that-"

"Precisely.

A flutter of excitement and apprehension in his chest, and Matthew was hastening along the river basin, nearly leaving Francis behind in his haste. They needed to hurry.

_Hang on, Alfred._ Matthew thought, all tears forgotten now, _Hang on, Arthur. We're coming._


	35. Chapter 35

Matthieu ran from him, easily darting among the large rocks and small pebbles, like a deer that has caught a wind, and and runs from the hunter. Francis would have smiled at the allusion, except for the fact that he was falling behind.

Still, Jean-Louis and Felice were still waiting for them in the town- prepared to make their escape as they tended to the engine, and made rounds to find the most likely escape route.

He only hoped that he and Matthieu would be able to transport the missing pair to the rendez-vous point.

Another moment.

Matthew's gray coat had vanished past some trees that were leaning close to the water.

Son petit, he had said something about having been with his brother in his dream. The waking moment had been-

Had the boys ever exchanged places in their minds, or been in control of the other, even for a moment? Could they sense when the other was watching, or-

That could prove to be awkward in some situations.

He would have to ask Canada. That is, once he caught up with the younger man.

Around the bend, and nearly falling into the stream as he stepped upon a loose rock. Francis hoped that neither of their quarry had found this- pneumonia from a soaking, or drowning in the cold river did not seem like they would be helpful right now.

A moment later, France spied Canada, leaning over and looking as though he were catching his breath.

"Ah, mon cher, you run far to fast-" Francis tried to double his speed, in order to start asking his questions of Canada. If it had been Alfred who asked of him where he was, the answer might have made him leery of allowing his twin to-

"Al..." Matthieu's voice was quiet, and the only reason that Francis could hear the name spoken was the sudden gust of wind that blew it back to him.

And then the boy collapsed.


	36. Chapter 36

9:30 AM Just outside of Zierenberg, Germany

The cold water hadn't done Arthur any good, however Alfred felt a bit less hot to the touch after they had both fallen in because of a loose stone.

Walking wasn't any more comfortable, and the day was starting to heat up a bit. Perhaps it had done a bit of good, after all, because Arthur was relatively clean now. He liked that feeling.

Being clean.

Perhaps not so pleasant was the feeling of the stings and scrapes that had been suddenly washed clean- Arthur could only imagine how badly it had stung Alfred's wounds. But the young man hadn't made a sound, just shaken himself off, and laughed- a false laugh, but still a laugh, and tried to help Arthur to get back on the bank.

In the end, Moose had merely come up behind them, and given them a shove to remind them to keep going. Keep walking. Keep moving.

And they had. An hour or less, and they had covered more ground than Arthur had expected... and less, as he noted the tops of buildings between tree limbs and leaves.

"What city is that?" He asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Zierenberg." Belle's voice came unexpectedly, "You've gone maybe a mile from where you exited the box-train-thing. Moose is taking you on a roundabout way that isn't watched as much."

"Only a mile?" Arthur could feel the weariness weighing heavily upon him. "How are we going to get out of this place if we can only move a mile in an hour?"

"If you can remember how to steer them, there are boats at the dock. A couple of pixies are watching over one of them for me. It would be easier than walking." Belle flittered around to land on his shoulder, and jumped back when he yelped. "What happened-"

"He got shot at when we escaped," Alfred provided. "We didn't have anything to bandage it with after he got done with my leg."

"Your leg-" Belle seemed to focus on Alfred now, a frown touching her pretty face, "How are you holding up?"

"Good to see you, Belle. I'm okay. Tired though."

"Just tired?" Belle flew to him, landing on his shoulder and brushing a hand through a lock of his hair. "Damp too, I see."

Moose gave a little mournful call, and trotted back from the center of the river where he'd paused to catch a bit of vegetation while they were resting.

"He did what?" Belle turned on Alfred's shoulder to give Arthur a steely look. "Albion. What have you done?"

"What do you mean?" Arthur tried to figure out what exactly he could have done to earn such a look from the sprite. "I've been a bit busy to do anything that's worthy of that sort of look, Belle. Why don't you just tell me."

"You cast the spell a second time, with different parameters." Alfred's eyes flicked nervously from the fairy to Arthur. "Albion, you can't do that. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous? Like having the spell wear off far to swiftly in the first place, at a very inopportune moment?" Arthur could feel the flush of anger, "You didn't tell me it would only last a few hours."

"I didn't think you were going to need more than a few hours before you got to the first safe house." Belle made a little toss of her head and a spark in her eyes that made her a little more frightening than a fairy should honestly be. "Albion, it was dangerous to cast in the first place, and the second time- You don't have the strength left to continue keeping him moving like this."

"Wait- what?" Alfred looked simultaneously confused and frightened.

"I'm fine. If we can just get-"

"You're about to collapse yourself. With all that you've been through-" Belle sighed, "Albion, my love, I know you don't remember, but … we have to dissolve the link before it kills you."

"I can't." Arthur's eyes widened, "I can't, Belle- if I do, Alfred-"

"Love, if you collapse..."

"You mean England- Arthur put himself in danger by doing that blood magic thing?" Alfred had regained his tongue, to Arthur's chagrin. "And if it keeps up, it will kill him?"

"You have a grasp on the obvious," Belle said smartly, and then shook herself. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for, Al. Yes, somehow Albion has managed to tangle the two of you up with the old magic, and it's taking all of his strength-"

"Tell me what I need to do to break it."

Arthur sucked in a deep breath, ready to yell at Alfred to shut up, but- the dizziness grabbed him.

"Belle, tell me. If I can see you right now, that means I still have some of Arthur's blood in me- and I've maybe got a chance of being able to do this. If he refuses to break it, I will." Alfred looked beyond the fairy, blue eyes soft in the morning light. "I can't let him die. Not because of me."

"Alfred, I'm perfectly fine- you don't have to-"

"Arthur," Alfred's hand was trembling as it touched his face, rough fingers brushing his cheeks and the suspiciously damp corners of his eyes, "I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of you dying. Our past has been full of each of us trying to get our own way for our own betterment. We hurt each other because of that, and because of that I want to do something for you-"

"Dying won't help, you idiot." Arthur croaked, his voice suddenly deserting him. If Alfred died- his world- "You're going to leave me alone-"

"Mattie will be there. Francis will be there." Alfred said in a reasonable tone that held a hint of a tremble. "And when you get your memories back, you'll have me, in a way, and you'll know now how I feel- felt all along. If you fall, Germany will win. If I fall, you still have a chance."

Belle was hovering over Alfred's shoulder looking sad.

"And besides," The smile was back, "Who says I'm going to die anyway? Who knows- I just might surprise you."

"Alfred..." Arthur couldn't articulate what he was feeling, what he'd seen. America didn't understand why he'd done this, did he- didn't understand-

Lips brushed against his cheek.

"I love you, Arthur. Just remember that, no matter what happens. And thank you for giving me a chance to finally tell you."

"I-" Arthur couldn't speak beyond the lump in his throat. "Alfred, I-"

"Shh. You don't have to say anything." Fingertips brushed his lips, as softly as the kiss on his cheek. Deep blue-green eyes gazed unshakingly into his own. "Belle, what do I have to do?"

"Repeat the words. The circle has been washed from your skin already- and step away from Albion." The fairy sounded sad. It was a reflection of his own mood- however... She gave the words- in a different language from the one that she had given him. Easier to pronounce, perhaps, but still-

Alfred stepped back, and gave Arthur one last smile.

"This was a second chance for us, Iggy, and I'm glad that we had it." Alfred closed his eyes, and pronounced the words, accentless as though he'd known the language all the time. "I shaorann thee as ár banna, tá an praghas a íocadh. Tá muid beirt a bhí ar cheann agus tá níos mó."

A gentle wave of something- magic, most likly- passed over Arthur, sending his brain spiraling towards the headache that loomed over every waking moment that he remembered- and then it all came crashing down on him.

The airplane. Flying. Alfred- fear of losing his sometime ally and man he wanted to call friend, because Brother was no longer a term that either of them could bear to use about one another-

A thousand years of history rampaging through his brain, his mind, until Arthur- no, _England_ wanted to scream with it. France. The Americas-

Alfred. His war.

Finding America, and seeing that mirrored loneliness reflected inside startlingly blue eyes.

The same eyes that were watching him when his vision cleared, leaving him feeling quite shattered. Alfred- loved him. And he... he felt the same as he had a moment ago, before the memories had returned. The hurt was there, but somehow-

"Iggy?" Alfred managed to say, before those same blue eyes slipped closed despite an obvious effort, and he fell.

Oh dear god.

He fell.

Arthur stepped forward immediately to catch him, as Moose moved to nuzzle his muzzle against England's neck, where America's head had fallen. Warm breath tickled his skin, as the heavy weight pushed against him, aggravating already sore ribs.

"Oh, you idiot," England's eyes pricked with tears again. Again, this idiot had him crying- this brave stupid boy. "I love you as well."

Arthur eased Alfred to the ground, carefully checking his pulse- slow, but not hesitating- that he wasn't bleeding any worse than one could expect- He was, though. The movement had jostled something, and a hand pressed to America's side came back bloody.

"The poison has worked itself out of his system by now." Belle said, with a note of sadness in her voice still. "If he is treated, he may live."

"That's-" Arthur smiled through the tears. "He's a stubborn ass. We'll have to find anther way out though. I don't fancy trying to keep him alive for several thousand miles on my own."

"I understand." Belle was trying to smile, "I will help you, if I can- but the price-"

The price.

Fuck. He'd been practicing magic without knowing what the price would be- the first time would have been a simple thing. Perhaps a minor rebellion, a headache of sorts, but the second time... and the breaking-

"What is the price, Belle?"

"I-" Belle closed her eyes, and said something else- but Arthur couldn't understand, as the lingering headache ripped through him at full force, sending him to the ground with a low cry of pain.

Magic, pulling at him prodding at him, and taking- taking-

Darkness fell over Arthur's world.


	37. Chapter 37

A rabbit hopped up to Matthew's leg, putting both forefeet on his lap while its nose twitched. Ears flopped backwards as it looked up at him with soulful brown eyes.

"He likes you, Mattie." Alfred's voice. "You can tell with bunnies, because they won't come to just anyone like that."

"I see." Matt turned his gaze away from the rabbit. "What stupidly brave thing did you do this time, that you're in my dreams?"

"It wasn't stupid." Alfred looked faintly insulted. "And... are we dreaming, or am I just dead, and talking to an illusion?"

"I'm real. Are you a ghost?"

"Fuck no- I can't be a ghost-" Al's face was a slightly paler shade at the suggestion. "Okay, so maybe- I broke some spell of England's, and might be dead because of it, and right now I just want to go back, because something happened when I did, and he had this look on his face-"

"The 'I'm going to kill you, you idiot' look?" Matthew smiled, studying the illusory body of his twin. Al looked... well. Like hell- but at the same time, there was a peacefulness about him that Canada hadn't seen in years. "Because if you die, I'm pretty sure both of us will want to strangle you. I don't want your land, you know."

"Aww, everybody wants a piece of this-" Alfred laughed, sitting next to Matthew. "Just kidding. I'm sorry if I've been worrying you. We might need a ride home if Arthur and his fairies can't come up with a plan. Moose can't exactly carry us wherever, and I dunno if Iggy can-"

"I haven't heard you call him that in years, Al." Matthew reached over to pet the solid head, ruffling blond hair. Hadn't heard him talk about Arthur's fairies in such a calm and reasonable tone either."So you two managed to get along the entire time you were prisoner, and during your escape-"

A thought came to him, as Al squirmed away from his hand.

"So how _did_ you manage to escape?  
"It's a long story, but I was a hero, and I got to see how well Germany's grenades work." And there was that big cheesy grin.

"I gathered that from seeing the remains of the truck."

"Huh?" Alfred genuinely looked confused. "I thought you were in London. Maybe in a hospital because I kept leaking to you-"

"No, Al." So that was what Francis had meant by an imitation. "We're in Germany, looking for you. I'm not so fragile that a few nightmares will send me to the hospital."

"Oh." The deflated sound in his voice made Matt look a little closer. Alfred was exhausted. They both were, if they were in the middle of that doorway and talking. "I wish I'd known- maybe I could've told you where we were."

"I wish you had, in some ways. In others, I wish I could've grabbed you, and told Arthur to stay put. With his injury, you two on the loose is more difficult to deal with. Can you tell me where you are now?" Matt slipped his hand into Al's. "That way Francis and I can come find you, and bring the two of you home."

"Francis is here?" Al smiled faintly, "Well, last I knew, Belle said Zierenberg."

"Belle?" Matthew hummed softly, "A fairy, I assume. Can you wake up, so that I can make sure?"

Al closed his eyes for a moment, the look of intense concentration covering his face for a minute. Then two.

"I can't. Maybe I really am dead." Al sighed mournfully. "Can you tell Iggy that I'm sorry I couldn't surprise him this time then?"

"You can't be dead, you idiot." Matt frowned, trying not to scare the rabbit, which had climbed fully onto his lap. "You wouldn't be here talking to me if you were, and I won't _let_ you go."

"You might have to, Mattie." Al leaned against him, as though trying to keep warm- so Matt put an arm around him. "Sometimes these things happen. The contingency plans are in place, and my boss knows what to do. You don't have to tell Arthur that I made them, okay? I think that might upset him more than anything."

"Al... do you really want to let go?" Matt held his brother tightly, glad for the moment that there was no pain for either of them. "Because I don't want to let you go, and even if he's always cross with you, I don't think England wants to see you die either. France would be upset as well- but France is … well. France. He hates unhappy endings almost as much as you do."

"I don't want to, Mattie, but if I have to- I did the thing that I would've regretted not doing, so..." Alfred curled his arms around Matthew comfortably. Side by side, as they had been for most of their lives. "But I kinda... want to see more. The stars are waiting to be explored. The oceans are looking interesting, and there are just so many things left to see and do-"

"Don't let go then. Let me find you, and I'll do what I can. You'll hurt for a while, but after that-"

"I've been hurting forever, Mattie." Al sighed, "And I'm kinda worried- but not scared- that it's not quite over yet. Belle said something about a price, and I haven't found out what it is yet."

"Price?"

"There's a price for magic." Al said solemnly. "And I sorta kinda had to use a spell so Iggy wouldn't die because of me."

"Al..." Matthew snuggled close to his brother. "Maybe that's why you can't wake up yet?"

"I dunno. We'll see- but here's the question, why are you still here? Aside from trying to tie me up in knots so I won't leave? Or even better- where were you before you fell asleep?"

"I..." Matthew frowned. He'd been... at the river, and then- "I was tracking you and England, and then something- It was like the door between us was flung open wide, and …."

"You fainted."

"Passed out."

"Fainted."

"Fainted is such a girly thing to do, Al. I'm not a girl." Matt let the annoyance pass. "Francis was right behind me- probably heading back to Zierenberg. I need to find out where you are though, Al, so I can come and get you. I'm serious."

"We're by the river. I could see a brown building and a gray building, and a bunch of trees." Al unwound himself from Matthew with obvious regret. "I couldn't exactly give you details. I don't have my glasses, and it was a bit difficult to pay attention."

"Crap."

"Maybe if you call Moose, he'll be able to tell you. Or find you."

"That's right, Moose was with you-"

"Yeah... uh... " Alfred's face coloured a bright pink to the ears. "Don't mind his gossip though. He's been hanging out with the wrong folks again."  
"Al..."

"Mattie."

"Like I don't know what you meant. Don't worry. I think Moose understands things like that should be private." He ruffled his brother one more time, and slipped a hand around the rabbit, "Here, hold onto Mr. Bunny, and get ready to wake up. I've got access to drugs, so-"

"Thanks, Mattie." Alfred grabbed his hand once more, the other one occupied by the rabbit. "For coming for me. And stuff."

At least here, Alfred could be sincere, without playing games or hiding himself behind a mask of false cheer.

"You're welcome, Al." Matthew said, "And remember, I love you, you idiot."


	38. Chapter 38

Matthieu awakened about halfway to the rendez-vous point.

Smiling.

"They're by the river, near the town." he said, "We can go get them—"

"Not without Jean-Louis," Francis said firmly, readjusting his grip on Matthieu, who slid until his feet hit the ground. "We'll need help getting them moved, and I do not want to have you faint again."

"Damn it, fainting is a girly thing to do. I passed out." Matthew scowled, violet eyes flashing. "I just had that argument with Al, thank you."

"So you talk to him through that connection." Francis nodded. "I suspected it might be so- and the door between you, it is still open?"

"Not... exactly." Matthieu shrugged, "It's closed, but I can feel that he's alive now, which is better than what I've been dealing with since this morning."

"And Angleterre?"

"Alive. They haven't been trying to kill each other, so maybe we could get them before they actually start behaving like normal." Francis sighed, glancing towards their destination.

"Please let me get Jean-Louis. We may need a hand-"

"All right, Francis." Matthieu was scowling, "Just- hurry. I don't like how he was talking, and the sooner we can get to them the better anyway."

The rest of the way to the stand of trees and old shack that their truck was supposed to be next to was silent. Matthieu was pushing himself to nearly run, and Francis couldn't help but catch that adrenaline rush.

The space, of course, was empty.

"What the hell-" Matthieu growled, seeing the absence of a vehicle before France could catch up. Canada was livid, and France did not blame him.

"They were supposed to be right here. One at all times-" France was scowling now- and that would put wrinkles on his face eventually. This trip alone had given him a few. And gray hair. "I don't understand-"

"Docter Wilhelm," It was one of Francis' poker buddies from last night and early in the morning. "You are requested at the hospital."

"I can't go right now-" Matthew growled softly, obviously keeping his temper in check. And he had one- Francis feared it. But he feared discovery more. He laid a hand on the livid man's shoulder.

"Matt- I can continue without you." He said softly, "If they need you- If Ludwig has awakened-"

"Who is it that needs me?"

"New patients. Your guards insisted that we come find you at once- they have already taken the prisoners to the hospital and the special quarantine ward that you set up for the front line illness-"

"Prisoners? I thought you said-"

"I was with Fel about twenty minutes ago when this British soldier walked straight up to us and turned himself in with the condition that we also bring in his companion. The Brit isn't in too rough a shape, but his friend is in need of care. Fel said that they also were infected, so the other doctors won't touch him."

Francis could feel his head getting light. After all that they'd been through, would they really-

"Fuck." Matthieu said harshly, then a moment later covered his surprise with a quick, "It's spreading now."

"Matt-" Francis squeezed the shoulder. "We will go straight away."

"O-of course." Matthieu said, "Thank you for informing us."

"It is a pleasure, mein herr." The man saluted, and scurried off to his barracks for what little sleep that Francis knew could be had there.

"Mattheiu-" France said- but before he could continue, Matthieu had started running for the hospital.

This could be the end to their mission, and all that was left was to smuggle themselves home.


	39. Chapter 39

11:20 AM, Zierenberg, Germany : Hospital

England huffed quietly as the young soldier gave him a look that clearly said 'stay on the bed'.

He was fine, damn it all. Truly.

His ribs ached, his shoulder was sore, and various parts of his body screamed of bruise and too much physical activity, however he was fine.

Fel, the young soldier, had already efficiently bandaged the graze on his shoulder that looked for all the world like it came from a bullet, rather than the wreck of an airplane. And that was the start of the trouble.

England just had no idea how he'd gotten from America's crashing bomber to the banks of a river in the middle of Germany, lost his jacket, and felt as though he'd been running for miles.

And then there was America.

Alfred had been with him, pale and still, and looking for all the world like he was dead.

Except the fairy that had found him said he wasn't, and when England had checked, the boy was still breathing, his heart still beating a steady rhythm (He didn't know why that had given such a deep and satisfying sense of relief.). And the wounds... dear god, how could they be in the middle of a clear day, far from the wreck of an airplane, and America so badly hurt that it made his heart ache.

And now they wouldn't let him up so he could check on America.

Not that he was worried about the boy.

Young man.

Stupid git.

Brave hero- he would never admit the last out loud. Never.

Not that there was anything he could do to help, even if they did allow him to get up. Nations couldn't use magic to heal- something that he had muttered, more than once before Belle had suggested that he turn them in, and find a way to escape once America wasn't at death's door. She wouldn't tell him how they'd gotten there, other than a simple 'You walked'- with a look that was as sad as anything that looked out of place on one of the Fae.

"When is the doctor going to get here?" Arthur grumbled, looking at the slight teenaged boy- not even old enough to shave. What was Ludwig thinking?

"Soon." he replied, "We have sent someone to get him, and his aide."

"Right." England said, folding his arms and watching the boy. "How old are you anyway?"

The boy gave him a tiny grin, looked at the doors, which were firmly closed, and the guards far away from them- Quarantine ward.

"I'm twenty five." he said, in a voice just shy of breaking. "Call me Fel. Francis does."

"Franc-" England blinked twice. Let the accent place itself in his mind, and then stared hard at Fel, eyebrows furrowing. "You're not-"

"Shh. Stay calm, and remember not to yell. This is a German hospital, after all."

Of all the nations who had people who could infiltrate and rescue prisoners, it had to be _France. _It couldn't have been Canada or America- or god help him, Russia.

France with his flowing golden locks and lackadaisical attitude. He was never in a hurry, and neither were his people-

The door flew open, startling England as two figures burst through, swiftly shutting it behind-

"Ah, here he is now-" Fel said as _she_ smiled.

Both figures were blond. Cloaked in the blue-gray of German officers. The first was a bit ruffled and unkempt, but immediately began to search the room with violet eyes-

Wait. Violet?

"Matthew?" England asked curiously, "What are you doing here?"

"What? No greeting for me?" France was the other figure- not quite to his usual fashionable self- and England just groaned.

"You remember me!" Francis seemed almost gleeful for some reason.

"Of course I remember you, you damned frog." Arthur scowled- but it wouldn't stay. He was just... so relieved to see friendly faces. And the scowl turned into a faint smile. "Even if I would love to forget your scraggly bearded obnoxious self."

Francis only grinned stupidly.

That... was strange. France usually rose to the bait by saying something insipid, and then England would reply with something insulting, and so it went. But right now, France was acting as though he _liked_ being insulted.

What the hell had happened between the crash and the river?

Francis couldn't have found them, and then-

"Al..." Matthew's voice was low, but Arthur still heard it. "C'mon. We've found you now. You promised you wouldn't leave me, so I'm here to make you keep that promise."

"America..." France's face fell, and with only one short glance at England, he left for the side of the former colonies. England tried once again to get up- ignoring Fel's warning glance- and tottered over to them.

Alfred had been cleaned up by Fel and her partner John. (John was most certainly a man, England assured himself, because having a woman see him- that was most inappropriate, and he was certain America would feel similarly. If he were awake.) His face was still (Still?) very colourful, and bandages swathed the injured Nation's torso, left arm, disappearing beneath the thin hospital coverlet.

England knew there was a wound in the man's thigh as well, as it had oozed blood when he'd been moved. There had been murmuring amongst the pair who had come with them from the start about illness, the only German word that England had picked up.

"C'mon, Al. I want to see you wake up before I have to sedate you to get that bullet out of your leg." Matthew sounded almost- desperate now. "Al. Wake the fuck up."

"He's always been stubborn," England said, trying to cover his own concern, "Never listens to anyone- Damn idiot."

He received a somewhat sympathetic glance from Matthew, whose hand was now brushing his brother's cheek, lightly slapping him. Fuck. Had Matthew started reading minds now? Or had something happened in the past week- A mild headache formed in the back of England's head.

"Al, England's here, and he's worried about you. You promised you'd surprise him, now come on..."

"He did what?" England managed to keep from yelling the question. Actually- from the lack of staring from Francis and Matthew, he'd not even managed to speak aloud. "Alfred, open your damned eyes already!"

As though responding to the order, lashes fluttered, and summer-sky eyes opened slowly to look directly at England, as though the boy were looking through the blustering facade, and right to his heart, seeing all the secrets that he'd been trying to keep for the past hundred years. A faint trembling smile curved the lips.

"Told …. you," America said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. "Mattie- I-"

"Shh. Give me a little to gather the proper equipment, and I'll take care of that leg. Then we'll check on the rest, and see how soon we can leave." Matthew looked as relieved as England felt. "And next time you decide to play hero, remember who has to patch you up- and have mercy on me."

Matthew left his brother's side, and suddenly England found himself being steered in to replace him. He tried to glare at France, but the man just shook his head with a mysterious little smirk. Fuck. What the hell?

"What happened?" America's brow was furrowed in concentration. "Last I remember-"

"You crashed the fucking plane trying to save a village." England said with a sarcastic little twinge. He was still trembling from the memory of trying to get America to leave the plane, to not hurt himself in order to- "And then somehow we finished up on a river bank a half a mile from here."

"I..." The furrow was still there. "Oh. Did we miss the village?"

"You did," Francis said smoothly, "Barely clipped the town hall's clock tower. The residents are grateful- most of them are ordinary people, with extraordinary kindness. They gave us aid."

"They..." Arthur frowned. The boy had saved an entire town full of strangers, risked injury to – Even if his reasoning was coloured by what Germany had been doing to him, he was glad that at least someone was happy about all of this. Even if it was Alfred, and his faded grin. "Ah. And I haven't a clue what happened after that."

"You..." Blue eyes blinked at him slowly, the grin fading to a slight puzzled frown, "I remember you... pulling me out, but after that-"

"I did?" England's heart beat a little faster. He'd … "I must have been out of my mind."

"Yeah..." Was it his imagination, or did America sound a bit sad. "Sorry, Iggy."

The use of that old nickname just grabbed at his heart, and it was only with an effort that he was able to restrain himself from showing it.

"I don't remember much after that- flashes here and there. I know you were there, and Germany was-"

"Germany?"

"He has been rendered immobile at the moment, as has Prussia." France offered. "Germany had you, and was taking you both to Berlin. Beyond that we only have what Matthieu knows, and what Ludwig has offered- which was not much, other than England was not in his right mind during your captivity."

"Ah..." The sound of Matthew returning interrupted England before he could say anything foolish, or think further on the idea of not being in control around America. His ribs still ached, his head still hurt, and he would have to make a mental note to not allow Alfred to forget that he'd pulled him from the wreckage of one of his own bombers.

"All right then," Matthew said almost cheerfully, "Back into your own bed, England. As soon as I'm done with Al, I'll check you over."

England couldn't find a reason to object. He had no desire to see Alfred's wounds, no desire to see him bleeding and helpless- Of course the downside to this was that the Frog was next to him, moving away as Fel gave him a helpless little smile, and moved to assist Matthew.

"Okay, Al, giving you some drugs now- remember to keep your mouth shut, or we'll have enough ammo to tease you for few years-" England heard Matthew say, and thought he heard a small laugh from Alfred, before he focused on the Nation standing beside his bed.

"What?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice at seeing Francis there. "Is there something-"

"Non, cher Angleterre," Francis shook his head, "I am simply happy to see you alive and well. I- we were worried about the pair of you."

"Worried enough that you came out of hiding, I see. How is your resistance holding up?"

"Well enough," France laughed softly, "And from the way mes enfants handled this infiltration thus far, I believe they will triumph, even if I am to leave for a short time."

"Leave? But-" England frowned. Francis hadn't left his country since he'd covered for England's own evacuation. "You're not planning on leaving, are you?"

"Oui, I am." France said, sitting on the edge of Arthur's bed without an invitation. He could growl about that later. "There is much planning to do that involves the rest of the Allies- and I would be foolish to focus on my own personal struggles, when aiding the rest of you would provide greater results for all of us."

"So you're finally coming back to the meetings." Arthur sighed, and leaned back. "I told you-"

"You told me, yes." Francis didn't look contrite, which was fine, since he'd admitted that his absence from the allied meetings was not helping their efforts. "And there is also the matter of looking after the pair of you. You've lost three days of your life from your memory. That is not something that Nations should do, and be at ease with."

"Who says I'm at ease with it, Francis?" England tried to not look at where Matthew was holding a sharp instrument in a blood covered hand. But the only place that was left was to look into Francis' eyes. "I'm not. I don't know if Alfred remembers, or what happened. I have someone who may be able to tell me why I can't remember, but-"

"One of your Fae friends." Francis nodded, "Belle, I believe her name is- a lovely name, it means 'beauty'."

"How did you-"

"You know of the connection between our young allies over there?" Francis nodded to the twins. "They are twins, and neighbors, and more than that. That is how we were tracking you, and why Matthieu knew to come. He knew there was someone named 'Belle' involved."

"But neither of them can see the Fae." Arthur protested, "And-"

"I do not know what happened, nor does Matthieu, in that regard. We shall have to wait and see if Alfred can fill anything in, once he is healthy again."

England could only nod, and wait.

"If not, we will just have to count it as lost time, and move on."


	40. Chapter 40

Two Weeks Later: London, England

The meeting dissolved into a cacophony of heated arguing, random yelling, and the occasional punch being thrown.

Canada had been forced to remind England to please stop choking America, because the other nation had still not completely recovered from all of the injuries inflicted upon his physical form from both the crash, and the heavy casualties that had happened in the past week, as Japan attempted to wipe every one of America's people off of a few small islands in the Pacific.

He didn't want to have to watch Al pretending that it didn't hurt, while Matthew bandaged the wounds, and tried to encourage him to mope for a minute, rather than rush right back out-

They were all hurting in this war.

England was completely the same, pretending that he wasn't feeling the casualties mounting, rising to whatever bait that America had tossed to him in his effort to pretend to be the idiot that everyone expected. Matthew had his suspicions as to why Al was playing this game with England, and why Arthur sometimes looked as though he wanted to just walk away from the provocation.

But he couldn't confirm anything.

Al didn't remember enough about their captivity and escape to fill a thimble- _(About as much as your intelligence, isn't it, America- England had been scathing, but there had been an undercurrent of despair.)_ And England claimed that it was an entirely blank period in his life, and so could everyone please stop asking, because there was nothing either of them could do to recover it, so move the fuck on.

Moose had disappeared again, and Matthew was certain that he knew something- but he always did come and go. By the time he returned again, everything would have worked itself out.

Canada sighed, as the Allies finally agreed on something.

Everyone was hungry.

It wasn't much, but it was a start- but it also meant that everyone would be going their separate ways for a few hours, and nothing concrete would get done. Matthew despaired of plans, and actions. He hugged Kuma close to his body, and rose from his seat to follow the others, pausing when he saw Al turning back.

"Al?" There was an acknowledging smile, but Al continued to the door to the little room off of the conference area that England used as a library.

"Hey England, I wanted to talk with you ab-" And that's as far as Al got before he stopped, face going quite pale and red. And a bit green. Matthew wondered what it was that had stopped the words in his chatty brother's mouth- was he sick again, or was England-

He moved to his brother's side without a word, looking beyond the frozen Alfred to see..

Arthur. Standing alone in the middle of the library, and talking to himself while making vague patting motions in the air.

"..." Matthew hadn't seen this for a while, nor the look of contentment on England's face. Well, if they existed, they certainly made him happy-

And then he looked at Alfred, who was staring, not entirely at Arthur, but at the air next to him.

"Al?" Matt whispered curiously.

"Let's go, Mattie." Al sounded as though he might be trying not to cry, or – shake.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, Mattie." Al sighed, and started backing away. "Just realizing a few things... and I don't... want to think right now. Let's go get food. I'll talk with England later, when he's not busy."

Matt glanced back at the preoccupied England, and shrugged.

"Whatever you say, Al. Whatever you say."


	41. Chapter 41

Moving on was a bit more difficult than England had expected.

America claimed to have no memories of the time they'd been together, however from a few of the sidelong glances that he'd been on the receiving end of, England wasn't so sure if that was the whole truth. Alfred had certainly gone out of his way to provoke him when he noticed Arthur noticing something amiss.

It felt wrong, however, and while Matthew's reminder of his brother's injuries was timely, England really hadn't been putting an effort into throttling the boy. It had been more of a loose grip around the other's neck. He simply couldn't make himself try to hurt Alfred. Not seriously.

Not with the little secret smile that was on America's lips the entire time that Arthur had his hands around a neck that remained unmarked. It was as though Alfred was deliberately trying to-

Bruises had faded, broken bones had mended- both his, and Alfred's. (_Alfred, who no longer looked like he was dying happily received his glasses from his brother, and slung on a ruined leather jacket with a faint wince that Arthur almost missed. But he hadn't, and couldn't stop the exclaimed, "Idiot, take it easy. You'll pull your stitches-"_

_ "Aw, Iggy, I didn't know you cared-" )_

The meeting dissolved, and the yelling had stopped echoing from the rafters.

"Nothing is getting accomplished here. I keep getting into arguments with them," England murmured to himself, leaving the room before any of his allies could depart. He couldn't stop it- two weeks without being able to speak to Belle about … whatever had happened. Two weeks with Alfred not being entirely honest with him, and deliberately (He was sure of it sometimes) provoking him into anger. It was like he didn't know the former colony anymore. On the outside, he was still the same boy, albeit grown- but that was superficial, and even that had changed slightly since the days that he didn't like to remember- because they all ended with being on the receiving end of a musket, and tears in the rain.

Though the memories before that weren't all bad...

And then there was the whole matter of the way America had become 'Alfred' in his thoughts once again. Publicly they still addressed one another by their public names- privately... Arthur was again thinking of America in more gentle terms. One might think he was developing more of a soft spot for the lug. A fondness that had little to do with who they had been before this war, and more to do with the very strange friendship that had started developing since it had begun.

Or more specifically, since they'd been recovered from Germany.

Perhaps once he returned to his summer cottage, when things were quieter, he could find out- maybe not exactly what happened, but enough to piece together why...

"Albion!" A voice startled him out of the thoughts that circled around and around in his head and went nowhere, like some insane carousel. "Hello!"

A green rabbit with wings- his very own fairy friends-

"You came all this way to visit me?" England felt the smile growing as he looked over the sudden influx of his friends who were neither Nation nor human. The friends who had been with him for much of his life- Including a certain Fairy that he really wanted to talk to... "Thank you- you are the best friends ever-"

There was a faint noise from the doorway, but when he looked towards it, England only saw the edge of a brown jacket fleeing.

"Odd." England murmured, "He didn't even pause to poke fun."

"He has reasons, Albion." Belle said quietly, coming to land on his shoulder, as his other friends jockeyed for a position close to him. This would take all afternoon- but these were the fae. He always enjoyed his time spent with them. "I know you have questions for me."

"Yes, I do, actually." Arthur frowned, "You were there- what exactly happened? How did we get from a crash site to a river, and with both of us in such a condition?"

"You used some of the oldest magic, Albion," Belle said, patting the light scar on his temple. "And the price was those days."

"But... wouldn't it ordinarily be a significant day? Something extraordinary happening, or something unusual?" Arthur frowned in puzzlement. "And Alfred should remember it-"

"He might not. The price had to be paid, and you both had a hand in it, so the powers may have taken from you both."

"How peculiar." England was braced by a unicorn, curling his arm around the downy mane. "Usually it is only the one who invokes the magic that has to pay. And why would I be using-"

"You saved his life, England, my love," Belle's voice was soft, "And he saved yours- and that is all I can say of that, lest the powers decide that my memories should be taken for providing the means."

"I … he..." England was at a loss. "I was not in my right mind. Was he?"

"I believe, for a brief time, that both of you were in your right minds." Belle said with what looked to be sorrow. "But just remember, Albion, Britain, my England, that second chances do happen, and being honest may be the only way for anything good to happen for you and the ones you care about."

"The ones I care about?" England tried not to scoff, "I care about the Fae. The rest can-"

"You're not ready yet." Belle stroked his face again. "When you can face your desires and your feelings, that will be when your happy ending comes."

"Face my desires and feelings?" England did snort then- a very forced sound that... he didn't want to admit was any such thing. "Happy endings are for fairy tales, and the idiot's movies, Belle. Not for old Nations like me. Now- let's see about some sugar-"

The conversation was forcibly pushed away, and finally, England moved on.


	42. Chapter 42

Francis remained hidden in his little corner of the library, with his petit dejuner, a little meal that others might have wanted, stolen- but he wasn't about to share. He might have returned to the world stage, but he was still sore, and this was his.

When England entered, he considered announcing his presence- however the food would have been a loss, as Angleterre would have spilled it while kicking him out- And then came the vision of Angleterre talking to the air once again.

Envy raised its head for a moment, as France wished that he might see these creatures- and fell just as swiftly. He didn't need to be made fun of any more than he was.

The motion in the door drew his attention away from the shorter, short-tempered Brit, and to the sight of tall beautiful America standing in the doorway, a look of unspeakable heartbreak on his face- and France realized that Angleterre had named the fae his 'best friends'.

Matthew came shortly thereafter, and led his now sickly looking brother away.

It was food for thought.

"Face my desires and feelings?" England was forcing a snort, and Francis could hear a note of uncertainty in his voice. Had he noticed America? Had he seen Alfred's face- "Happy endings are for fairy tales, and the idiot's movies, Belle. Not for old Nations like me. Now- let's see about some sugar-"

_Happy endings, _decided France, _Are for everyone._

And once this war was over, he had a new project. Yes. Once it was appropriate, and they had proper time for these things...

France went back to his lunch with a renewed and happy appetite.


End file.
